


The Frosty Witch

by GoldenPrincess



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Belting, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fear Play, I love Bioware's brand of humour so there's lots of that too, Large Cock, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Masochism, Oral Sex, Power Play, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Smut before feels, Spanking, Strong Female Characters, There may or may not be a triangle on the horizon, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-09-24 23:59:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17110577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenPrincess/pseuds/GoldenPrincess
Summary: Elphaba is the stoic, unwavering leader of the Inquisition, a scholarly Circle mage with a talent for frost spells and necromancy. Enigmatic and intimidating to most, she cannot help but intrigue the Iron Bull. What begins as an unlikely friendship quickly grows into a deep compatibility that no one in Skyhold could have predicted.This work is a series of short vignettes that span the romance arc between Inquisitor Elphaba* Trevelyan and The Iron Bull. The events presented stay true to the game's progression and character depictions. These little scenes simply serve to elaborate on how their relationship develops, and flesh out all those teasingly short cutscenes (plus a whole lot in between)! Sexual tension abounds in Chapters 1 and 2, but go to Chapter 3 for immediate smut.





	1. An Unexpected Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> For visualization, the embedded cover image on Chapter 1 will give you a sense of how Elphaba looks. She has Sumalee Montano's voice.
> 
> Disclaimers:
> 
> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Dragon Age universe, which is trademarked by EA Bioware. The depicted characters are created and owned by EA Bioware, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Dragon Age. Some of the dialogue portrayed is taken straight from the game's cutscenes and party banter. I claim no ownership over these portions of talented writing by Bioware's employees (Patrick Weekes chief among them where The Iron Bull is concerned). The story I tell here about the Inquisitor and The Iron Bull is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of the Dragon Age canon. This story is for entertainment purposes only and is not part of the official story line.
> 
> *The Inquisitor's first name is, of course, lifted from the titular character in Gregory Maguire's Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West. My Inquisitor's personality was heavily inspired by Maguire's Elphaba, whom I absolutely adore. I do not claim any ownership over the name.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Say, that whole thing you did where I hit you with a stick, does that actually work?” she asked.  
>  Bull’s momentary disappointment gave way to surprise, “You want me to… hit you, boss?”_
> 
> After taking down a high dragon in the Hinterlands, the Iron Bull learns something rather unexpected about Inquisitor Trevelyan.

[](https://imgur.com/a1MAdEp)

“Something for you, ser,” the requisitions officer startled the Inquisitor.

She thought she had wandered far enough into the camp’s outskirts to avoid such intrusions, but apparently not. The Inquisitor rose from the rock she was sitting on and fixed the officer with an icy glare.

The poor fellow’s face drained, “…Another time, then…”, he mumbled, and hurried off sheepishly.

Letting out a sigh, the Inquisitor shook her head, immediately regretting the ire she had let show in her eyes. She made a mental note to apologize to the lad later.

“Well, he must be new,” a deep voice rumbled behind her.

The Inquisitor turned to find herself facing a wall of qunari muscle. How the Iron Bull managed to move so quietly given his size always baffled her. “Yeah, wonderful first impression I gave him, huh.”

Bull smirked, “You made it pretty clear you wanted to be alone, boss. He’ll learn.”

“Did I? Is that why you’re here?” she asked scathingly. Anyone else would have blanched and stuttered an apology, but Bull did not miss the morsel of humour in her tone, or that the left corner of her mouth had lifted ever so slightly. 

“Look, I know things have been especially rough for you since that whole mess with… not-Blackwall. I thought getting out into the field again, busting some heads, might be good for you, but your brooding is reaching some epic levels.”

At the mention of Blackwall the Inquisitor’s eyes narrowed, “Everyone’s been on eggshells around me, I know. You’re here to tell me I need to let that shit go. For the good of my team, right?” She began pacing in agitation, “Maker, I wanted to hang him myself. I was going to leave him in Val Royeaux, you know? But Leliana, she knew I’d regret it.”

“Of course she did, boss, and for the record,” Bull added gently, “I’m not here to tell you to get over it. I wanted to tell you that... that I understand none of this is fair.”

She stopped pacing and looked up at him, confused, “What do you mean by that?”

“That you have to push aside your feelings right now to look after them,” he pointed back towards the camp. “I saw what just happened in Valammar with Varric and Bianca, and how it affected you. I know why we’re heading to Redcliffe now, and why Dorian is rivalling you for Skyhold Angst Award.”

“Hey,” in a flash the Inquisitor’s finger was in his face, her eyes icy. “Don’t joke about that. Dorian has every reason to be angry right now.” She had to lift her arm to a degree that would have been amusing coming from any other human, but from her somehow still managed to be threatening. The unnatural chill he felt emanating from her fingertip may have had something to do with it.

Bull smiled affectionately and gently pushed her arm down, “See? Mama bear, that’s what I’m talking about.”

The Inquisitor relaxed and sighed when she realized what Bull was getting at. “Alright, I see what you’re saying. I have every reason to be feeling the way I am right now too.” Turning from him, she started pacing again, “I thought I was getting over it, but seeing how hurt Varric was… All these elaborate secrets and lies…” She threw up her hands in exasperation, “I feel like we never left the Winter Palace!”

“The Game is everywhere, boss, not just in Orlais,” Bull stated matter-of-factly, “You know that. You’re at the centre of it.”

The Inquisitor grimaced and pinched the bridge of her nose. With a quiet sigh she sat back down on the rock. From here they could see Redcliffe in the distance, illuminated to the west by the setting sun.

The Iron Bull confidently sat down next to her. He had seen no signs of her closing off from him, despite her defeated posture.

After a moment, she spoke quietly, “The Game we play, we don’t have a choice in it, I know, and the scale on which we play… I hope I never become used to it. But, with him something felt different. My whole life I’ve been surrounded by games and secrets and fear, first in my family, and after that in the Circle. Then here was this confounding man, not a templar, not a mage, not a noble… Just this grey warden for whom life was simply about defending the innocent and being kind for no reason other than because it was right. I didn’t think people like that actually existed… I suppose I should have known better, right?”

She paused, expecting Bull to answer, but he said nothing.

“I know now he wanted to tell me," she continued, "I could see it on his face the last night we were together. But in the end he couldn’t. I think that’s why I let him stay. Running to the hangman instead of facing me was the easy choice for him, and Maker knows I don’t want him getting off easy. The worst thing about it all is that now I can’t help wondering, who’s next?”

Bull nodded, “Your trust in your people has been shaken. I get that.”

“I hate myself for thinking it, but what if Dorian has been undermining us to the Imperium this whole time? What if Varric has leaked something else vital to the wrong people? What if Sera has done the same to one of her Red Jennies? And of course, there’s you. Maybe you’re only pretending to be Tal-Vashoth while your loyalties are still with the Qun. Leliana says you should never really trust anyone. Perhaps she’s right.”

“I believe that’s what they call ‘catastrophizing’, boss. You’re a good leader because you inspire loyalty from your people. Even Blackwall thought he was doing the right thing by you, and the Inquisition. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you gave him a chance to redeem himself. As for me,” Bull adjusted himself to face her and spoke slowly, “I’m with you, Elphaba. You have my word on that.”

She flinched at the sound of her name. He knew she hated it, but he only used it when he wanted to emphasize his sincerity.

“You made a call for me once that was wrong of me to put on you. One I was too chicken-shit to make myself. And for that, you’ve got me. Always.”

She stared back at him with a gentle intensity, her face softened. The loose bun she normally tied her hair in was mussed up from the day’s battles, stray tendrils of jet black waves haphazard over her cheeks. The Inquisitor was infamously stern and stoic, so it was a shame so few got to see this side of her. More than once she had surprised everyone in their inner circle with unexpected compassion. That day on the Storm Coast was one of those times.

“I knew how much they meant to you,” she said softly, “because you’re a good leader too.”

So blunt and matter-of-fact. He could see why Blackwall was drawn to her, like a puppy desperate to be told he’s been a good boy (and punished when he wasn’t). There was one thing he was right about, though. She definitely deserved better.

“You gotta stop staring at me like that with your baby blues, boss, or I’m gonna get sweet on you.”

At that she gave a light laugh, “Ha! Swooping in already, are you? I’d expect nothing less,” she stood up, “but seriously, thank you for the talk. I do feel better.”

“Any time, boss. You hungry? Smells like rabbit stew over there, and I could use a decent meal after all those darkspawn.”

“Definitely,” she replied, and they headed back towards the camp together.

The high dragon flying overhead sent the entire village of Redcliffe into a panic. It had happened while Dorian and the Inquisitor were in the tavern confronting Dorian’s father. Thankfully, the beast did nothing else, but soon enough the Inquisition’s forces were being asked to deal with it.

Tracking the dragon to its brooding territory east of Redcliffe was easy. Without Cullen’s full forces at hand the Inquisitor decided, perhaps somewhat recklessly, to attack it herself with a small team. This was going to be Bull’s suggestion, and she surprised him by making it first.

“Yeeeeaaas!” he gave a wild grin, “So who’s coming with you, boss? Me, of course…” Cassandra looked at him as if he were mad.

“Well, it seems as if something exciting has came out of my father’s foolishness after all,” remarked Dorian.

The Inquisitor considered her plan, her expression hard, but she glanced at Bull briefly, smiling with her eyes. “Bull, Cassandra, and Solas with me. Our scouts identified it as a Ferelden Frostback. That means fire, so I’ll be offensive with frost damage, and Solas will provide barriers and healing. We’ll ground it with magic first, then once it’s down, Bull and Cassandra will go at its legs. It’s going to be very risky getting right under it like that, but crippling it will be the only way we get a chance at a killing blow. Ready? Let’s hunt ourselves a high dragon!”

The battle was exhilarating. Bull was beside himself waiting for his turn to go at the beast, Cassandra side-eyeing him the whole time. The Inquisitor positioned herself on a ridge up high, with Solas below to provide support for both her and the warriors. With a few well placed frost spells at its wings, the high dragon landed before them, enraged.

The Inquisitor watched Cassandra and Bull do an impressive dance about the feet of the dragon, and multiple times her heart dropped thinking one of them had been fried or crushed. But Solas’ barriers did their job well, and the warriors kept its attention successfully, assaulting its legs while she surrounded it in a blizzard and shot icicles through its wings and feet. Occasional bolts of lighting kept it confused, and shocked the dragonlings that had also been drawn to the battle.

Bull couldn’t help but glance back at the Inquisitor from time to time. Watching her call down the elements from the ridge, her face wearing an expression of intense concentration, and yes, joyous thrill, was intoxicating and served to elevate his own battle fury. At one point, the dragon finally caught on to her position and sent a fireball in her direction. Staring it down until the last moment, she Fade-stepped to another point on the ridge and continued her barrage, her face triumphant. 

Finally, she used the mark to open a temporary crack in the Veil, using Fade energy to overwhelm the dragon. Bull saw his chance as the dragon’s jaws opened to immolate them with yet another jet of flame. He gave a mighty roar as he leaped onto its head, grabbing at the horns for purchase. The dragon immediately began trying to shake him off, but it was too late. Once Bull was in the correct stance, he brought his great axe down between the dragon’s eyes in an earth-shattering blow. He leaped off as the dragon fell, defeated.

“That last burst of flame nearly roasted us!” Cassandra exclaimed.

“Did you see the way everything lit up when it tried to fry us?” Bull was ecstatic, “Now that’s a fight!”

“Still, I’m glad you so skillfully dealt the final blow, Iron Bull,” Solas added, “A quick, clean death for such a majestic creature.”

“Majestic? Say that after you’ve seen a pile of dragon shit the size of your house,” Cassandra shuddered in disgust, then looked around, “Where is the Inquisitor?”

“Still on the ridge, grounding herself of excess energy,” Solas explained, pointing, “She’ll be with us momentarily. I believe the dragon’s hoard is up the hill there, ideally unaccompanied by a shit pile the size of a house…”

The Iron Bull let Cassandra and Solas proceed ahead of him and waited for the Inquisitor to come down. She remained on the ridge, so he went up to her instead. Her eyes were bright and almost glowing with residual frost magic, and the air around her was still charged enough to make the hairs on his arm stand up.

“Enjoyed that, did you?” he asked.

“Enjoyed? I don’t think I’ve ever felt this energized!” she shouted, “Is this what it feels like when you’re in one of your Reaver trances? How do you ever manage to come down from this?”

“I’ll show you,” and she watched him carefully. Bull squared his feet, took a slow, deep inhalation, and suddenly let out an ear-splitting roar that echoed over the valley. “That’s what you do! Now your turn! Just let it all out!”

Elphaba copied his stance and took a deep breath of her own. Her scream was rough and deeper than he expected it would be, almost tonal. As she unleashed her voice, a wave of electricity shot into the ground beneath her, and the ionized air surrounding her burst outward, knocking Bull off his feet.

“There you go!” he nodded encouragingly. Instead of getting up right away, he took a moment to enjoy the view of her towering over him in full armour. She was no match for him physically, of course, but knowing she could freeze the blood in his veins from a hundred feet away was thrilling. It certainly wasn’t often he encountered someone who could intimidate him that way.

“Come on,” she urged him to stand up, “Let’s see what kind of amazing shit we can get off the carcass,” and she nimbly made her way down the ridge.

Bull couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at her enthusiasm. At first, he had found her fascination with death and corpses kind of spooky (her being a mage didn’t help things either), but now he appreciated it as just another one of her odd quirks.

The rest of the team had come down from the camp to marvel at their handiwork and help dissect the body, though “excavate” seemed the more appropriate term in this case.

The Inquisitor was between the dragon’s open jaws with her sleeves rolled up, deftly standing with her feet on either side of the large tongue that lolled out onto the ground. With a skinning knife, she carefully worked out one of the incisors, root and all, from its socket in the upper jaw and held it up proudly.

“Now that’s a keeper,” she said reverently, “Oh, the things I can do with you…”

At that, Varric, who was dislodging scales nearby, gave her a concerned look, “You know, you scare me sometimes.”

The Inquisitor smirked and raised an eyebrow, “You want one too?”

Varric hesitated, “Well, maybe… alright…but just a small one. I can’t be carrying around a talisman that’s the size of my whole arm.”

“How about you?” she looked over at Bull warmly, “Bet you want the biggest one, right?”

“Actually, not for me, boss,” and both she and Varric looked surprised at that. “Dragon’s teeth are kind of a special qunari thing. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to take one.”

Elphaba gave him a curious expression, “Interesting! You’ll have to tell me about that sometime…”

The team was about a day away from Skyhold as they set up camp in the Frostbacks. The journey back from the Hinterlands had taken a couple days longer than usual due to the dragon remains they were hauling back with them (though even then, they had to leave much behind and trust that Cullen’s forces would be able to salvage the rest later).

Bull had noticed that the Inquisitor was much more relaxed for a few days after the dragon battle, and was even uncharacteristically sociable, but before long the tension began to set in again as Skyhold drew closer.

That afternoon, she disappeared to bathe in a stream nearby and had been worryingly long in returning. The scouts were conflicted about seeking her out, given her souring mood of late, and the idea of interrupting her during such an intimate activity didn’t help the matter. In the end, Bull volunteered to go find her, much to their relief.

“I’m certainly not going,” Varric shuddered, “I’ve already filled my quota for cold lectures on how disappointing my behaviour has been. It’s your turn for a chewing out, Tiny.”

Bull side-eyed the dwarf, “Varric, you did kind of fuck up by trusting Bianca with the location of the primeval thaig. You had to have known she’d try to find it.”

Varric sighed, “Honestly, I’m just glad I’m not Blackwall right now.” 

Bull grimaced and got up to leave.

“Nice knowing you!” Varric shouted after him.

He found her wringing her hair out a ways downstream. It seemed she had simply taken her time after all. She was already partially dressed, in trousers and a loose cotton undershirt. It was just his shitty luck that he hadn’t arrived a few minutes earlier…

She noticed him approaching and flipped her head to toss the wet strands behind her back, “Of course they sent _you_ ,” she pulled on her boots and sighed, “Alright, let’s head back and show them I haven’t been eaten by a bear or some such,” and she made to grab her tunic, but Bull reached out and held her hand back.

“Hey, now hold on a minute, boss. If you’re not done taking some time to relax, don’t rush. I’ll just head right back and let ‘em know you’re alright.” 

Up close to her like this, he couldn’t help but notice how the untied lacing of her cotton shirt most delightfully exposed her cleavage, and how a single strand of wet hair had managed to soak through the shirt just above her right breast. He also realized rather startlingly that the smell about her, of slightly charged air, which had up until now always puzzled him, was in fact not unlike the scent of the dragon they fought. The effect of all these things was quite dizzying.

Elphaba noticed him staring and blushed faintly, “Bull… it’s alright, I better head back.”

Bull cursed himself for the momentary loss of control, and attempted to salvage the situation, “Look, boss, the closer we get to Skyhold, the worse your brooding gets. You need to release some of that tension.”

“Well, I don’t see another dragon around here,” she shrugged, “so unless you’ve got any better ideas…” and then a flame seemed to ignite in her head.

Despite himself, Bull’s heart began to beat a little faster.

“Say, that whole thing you did where I hit you with a stick, does that actually work?” she asked.

Bull’s momentary disappointment gave way to surprise, “You want me to… hit you, boss?”

“Sure, why not,” she said as if he had made the suggestion. “I gathered up some kindling to take back before bathing, find a good branch from that pile over there.”

Bull hesitantly obeyed and found a solid, relatively straight piece. This was a most intriguing development.

As she tied up her hair and loosened her limbs she explained, “If I put up a barrier I’ll be fine. It’ll still hurt and knock the wind out of me, but you won’t do any serious damage.”

She turned around, got into a grounded stance, and squared her shoulders. He felt the air surrounding her warp and swell as she cast the barrier spell.

Bull blinked a few times, “We’re… really doing this, boss?”

“Of course. I’m ready. Go ahead and give that thing a swing at my upper back.”

“Have you… done this before?”

“What? No! But ever since I saw you after Adamant… I’ve thought about it…”

Yes, Adamant. One of the few battles that had ever left the Iron Bull seriously unnerved. Of course, he knew demons would be in the picture when he joined the Inquisition, but dealing with so many first hand… well, there isn’t much that can really prepare you for that, and the Nightmare was unlike anything he had ever even heard of.

“This is a qunari training exercise,” Bull explained, “for mastering fear. Are you afraid, boss?”

“No shit, Bull. Tomorrow I have to go back to making decisions that affect the lives of thousands, and pretend it’s no big deal while I do it. Hit me already!”

_Whack!_

He surprised her, so she let out a gasp, but she didn’t fall over. Of course he wasn’t using his full strength, but he respected her enough not to go easy either.

“Again!” she ordered.

_Whack!_

“Ungh!” she grunted. “It’s up to me to ensure Corypheus doesn’t destroy the world… I have to beat him, but how in the name of Andraste’s holy tits am I supposed to do that?” she spat through gritted teeth.

“You’ll find a way, boss! And you’re not alone!”

_Whack!_

“Aaaarggh! But some of you will die! _Harder!_ ”

“For this, we are glad to! Better that than go quietly into the future he has planned for us! You’ve _seen_ it!”

_WHACK!_

“UUNGGH! You’ll die because of me!” she hissed, “Stroud died because of me…”

Instead of hitting her again, Bull dropped the stick and grasped her shoulders, not roughly but secure in case she lashed out. She was breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating.

Leaning down so he spoke at her ear, he affirmed, “Not because of you. Because of Corypheus. You hear me? You’re going to make calls, just like you already have, but no one is dying because of you. This is all happening because of him. Never forget that.”

Elphaba’s shoulders slumped under him, “And the qunari on that dreadnought… they were Corypheus’ fault too, I presume? Then why are you still so guilty over it?”

Bull bit back the sting he felt at that and clarified, “I don’t feel guilty about that choice, boss, not any more. I feel guilty that you had to make it for me.”

She was about to retort, but her mind was quickly calming and she caught herself. “I’m sorry, it was awful of me to bring it up that way,” she whispered.

“Just take a few deep breaths,” Bull coached her.

She closed her eyes and complied, letting out a long exhale, “I… Hawke had to come back. It was the best tactical choice given his influence, but… all I could think about was how hurt Varric would be if I had left him behind. I can’t keep making decisions like that. I can’t afford that kind of attachment. Maybe I’d have seen what was going on with Blackwall if I hadn’t let myself get so…”

“No, don’t go there, Elphaba,” he interrupted firmly, “You’re not reckless, you just care about your people. That’s important. It’s what makes your team strong. They’re the faces that remind you why you’re doing all this. You taught me that.”

As she listened to him, her breathing and pulse returned to normal, and he felt her composure return.

“So, how do you feel?” he asked.

“Better,” she said, “The qunari are on to something with that exercise, thank you, Bull,” and she made to move away from him, but he held her in place.

“Not so fast, boss, you missed the second part of the exercise last time,” he explained.

“Oh? What else is there?” her expression brightened, curious.

“Just like the dragon, you need to make space for coming down, releasing all that energy you’ve built up. The qunari have a series of meditation techniques. I don’t think I can teach those to you in just an afternoon, but I can do this…” and slowly he began to knead her shoulders.

Elphaba let out a surprised sigh of relief and leaned into his hands in spite of herself. “You are just full of surprises, aren’t you, Bull?”

After what just happened between them, she was certainly one to talk of surprises. He grinned and motioned for her to sit on the ground in front of a tree stump. He sat on it behind her and continued the massage. Her entire back seemed to be made of nothing but knots.

“Wow, boss, you are _really_ wound up,” he remarked.

“You think?” she exaggerated sarcastically, “Ooooooh!”

“Yep, nasty spot there, if I can relax it, the rest of them should follow.”

She gasped, “You’re going to have to press harder in that case…sssszzzhh” she winced, “but slower! Maker’s breath, work up to it!”

Bull shook his head. She really was one tough woman. If not a mage, he was certain she’d have turned out a warrior. 

“To do this right, I’m going to need better access,” he stated. 

Carefully, Bull tugged the cotton shirt down below her shoulders. He was slow enough about it to give her ample time to protest, but she allowed him to proceed. Her skin was warm, covered in a light sheen of sweat from the exercise against fear, and he stroked the muscles of her neck and back appreciatively.

“Not even a bruise,” he exclaimed in astonishment.

“Barriers are great,” she smirked, and Bull could only nod in agreement.

Though stubborn at first, he eventually felt Elphaba begin to properly relax into his hands. Her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned her head back contentedly. The view it gave him of her breasts, heaving noticeably with her deep, slow breathing, and now only just covered by the half-open shirt, sent a shiver down his core. The Inquisitor was… well-endowed, legendarily so around Skyhold given the form-fitting outfits she typically wore. He felt himself twitch, her head painfully close to the awakened yearning between his legs.

He thought back to that time after Adamant again. He had asked her to hit him as a joke, certain she’d refuse. Even with his training, he had misread her. To Elphaba, his request seemed natural, and she complied without much thought, even encouraging him after each stroke, much like his own handlers once had. And he’d never admit it, but she gave a mean swing, constrained but focused (likely due to her proficiency with a magical staff). Something stirred in him that day, watching her strike him with such precision, in that tight black leather tunic she always preferred, the one with the silver filigree and amethyst clasp at her sternum. She was a leader he had grown to respect, but that was the moment she became a woman he wanted to _know_. 

That was also the moment that gave him the first grain of insight into what she might need… and now this encounter with the dragon and wanting to reverse their roles in the exercise… Elphaba had a quietly assured yet simultaneously imposing personality that naturally made people defer authority to her. In many ways, she reminded him of the tamassrans he had known. This deference from others in turn only encouraged her to further mask her emotions, especially the strong ones, simply for the sake of getting shit done. But now he had learned that she got release from fear through thrill, from anger through pain. Resolving the kind of tension she had built in her muscles normally took days of therapeutic attention, but pain and subsequent relief had melted much of it away in a single session.

Watching her head slowly come to lean against his knee, he wondered if he had read the fleeting signs of interest from her correctly. Most women, and men, made their interest in the Iron Bull known rather unabashedly. Rare was it for he to be the one with the desires, doing the pursuing. Though she certainly still cared for Blackwall, any romantic feelings had been assuredly stamped out by his betrayal. In anyone else, her behaviour would have been clear. He noticed the way she relaxed around him, became more humorous, and even flirted a little. But with Elphaba, that could mean sexual interest, or it could mean something deeper, more like a kindred friendship. That was how it was between her and Dorian, and there was definitely nothing sexual there. She trusted Bull enough to be vulnerable around him, emotionally and physically. That was a precious gift he did not want to ruin.

He would have to proceed very carefully.

“Boss,” he whispered gently, “you’re falling asleep on me,” and he lightly stroked the long scar that ran from her forehead down across her left eye and cheek.

Her eyes fluttered open and she sat forward, “Well, you’re just that good I guess.” He couldn’t see her face, but he heard the knowing smile. 

Slowly, she stood up and readjusted her shirt, tying the lace at her chest. Bull watched her absently. How did they stay up like that without any support?

“Blood magic,” she gave him a deadpan stare.

Bull’s eye widened. “Did I… did I say that out loud, boss?” he asked, mortified.

Her mouth twitched. Unable to hold her poker-face any longer, she burst out laughing, “No, but I had a guess as to what you were thinking, and now I know I was right! Oh Maker, your face!”

She pulled on her tunic and overcoat and headed back to the camp with the kindling, still cackling. Flummoxed, Bull took a moment to gather his thoughts, before grinning and following after her.

As she arrived back in camp with still the hint of a smirk on her face, Varric did a double-take.

“Was that your Ben-Hassrath training, Tiny? Maybe you should consider doing… whatever it was you just did… to Cassandra next.”


	2. To Dragons!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The atmosphere was heady, and Bull realized he may have overdone it when he couldn’t stop himself leaning down towards her, “Hey… hey, Kadan, listen…” he slurred, “You know, I always wanna say this, and I never can when we’re off saving the world…”_
> 
> Returning to Skyhold, poor Inquisitor Trevelyan is immediately bombarded with administrative drudgery. The Iron Bull takes it upon himself to ensure she gets a chance to properly celebrate the dragon kill.

At the gates of Skyhold, the Inquisitor was greeted by a small crowd.

“Welcome back, Inquisitor!” Cullen pushed through the bunch, “We received your raven from Valammar. Now that Corypheus’ access to the red lyrium at Bartrand’s Folly has been cut off, he’ll be doubling down on whatever other operations he’s put in place. When you’re ready I have a few options to go over with you on how to proceed in tracking them down.”

“Certainly,” the Inquisitor replied, “Meet me in the war room in an hour.”

“Regarding that, your worship,” one of Leliana’s commanders interjected, “My team in the western Frostbacks has already noticed increased red templar activity in the Emprise du Lion region. Here is my report.”

The Inquisitor nodded seriously, “Good work, commander. Something’s going on there, and now that the bulk of our forces are out of Ferelden, we can close in on them from there and the Dales.”

“That reminds me,” Cullen added, “We have some further information on Samson as well. Our scouts have pinpointed some red lyrium smuggling operations in the Emerald Graves that could be linked to whatever’s going on in the Emprise. This is a summary,” and he handed her another document.

As they made their way into the courtyard, a string of officers lined up for her attention.

“What’s all this I hear about felling a high dragon?” asked quartermaster Morris, “How exciting! Your worship, if you’re interested, I have some connections to a renowned, if a bit eccentric, smith in Denerim who could make you some fantastic armour and weapons out of the carcass’ materials…”

“Inquisitor! Ambassador Montilyet has asked me to brief you on the holdings of the Comtesse Lutetia, who arrived but three days ago to pay tribute to the Inquisition. When meeting her, you must wear this brooch depicting the Prophet’s butterfly…”

“Ah, Lady Herald! A new technique on the use of leeches in blood-letting has been developed at the University of Orlais. I’d like your permission to test these methods on some of our wounded…”

Before long, the Iron Bull had lost sight of her in the crowd as she was ushered into the great hall.

“Dreadful, isn’t it?” Dorian must have caught the pitying gaze Bull wore.

Bull growled in annoyance, “I was going to get a group of us in the tavern tonight, to celebrate the dragon, you know? But she has to be there, or there’s no point.”

“You want the Inquisitor to come to a tavern party?” Dorian asked, incredulous, “We are talking about the same Lady Trevelyan, are we not?”

“Come on, Tevinter, you saw how they just accosted her. She deserves a chance to unwind.”

“Yes, but Elphaba’s idea of unwinding is to be alone in her quarters with a dry tome on necromancy, and _maybe_ a glass of equally dry Sun Blonde Vint.”

“Not tonight,” Bull asserted, “I’ll get the word out, but you need to make sure she joins us.”

“Why me?”

“Because before the day is out she’ll want to see how you’re handling what happened in Redcliffe.”

Dorian gave him a confused look, “She told you this?”

“No, but she will come find you.”

“You saw how busy she’s going to be, so I doubt it,” and he paused, “Ah, this is your training is it?” 

Bull smiled.

“You really think she’ll come to a drinking party?”

“If you ask her, yes.”

The Iron Bull had just finished regaling the Chargers with the details of the dragon battle, naturally with many added embellishments. He made sure to raise his voice at key points so the whole tavern would get an earful.

“You big idiot,” Krem laughed, “Of course you’d decide to take on a dragon near single-handed. I’m surprised you’ve come back with your face intact, what’s left of it anyway.”

“Turns out I'm not so bad in a fight when I don't have to look after hapless Vint boys the whole time. But actually, it was the Inquisitor’s idea,” Bull corrected.

“Seriously?” Dalish raised an eyebrow, “The _Inquisitor_ decided just four of you would attack a high dragon.”

“Yep, and you should have seen her. _Swoosh_ , _fwoosh_ ,” Bull mimed swinging a mage staff, “Peppered its wings with holes and iced its feet to the ground. And then she did this thing where she, like, teleported or something to dodge a fireball…”

“Ah, a Fade step, that's awesome!” explained Dalish, “Not that I would know anything about frost spells!” she shouted.

“Hang on, how come I didn’t get to do the dragon stuff with you?” Sera joined them, and looked genuinely hurt at missing the encounter.

“Because you hid in the rafters when you heard darkspawn were on the mission’s agenda,” Bull reminded her.

She pouted at that, but Krem added, “Plus, we needed your Red Jenny connections to persuade those Orlesian mercenary companies into abandoning their contracts.”

“Yeah, that was a good time,” she giggled, “but still, I better be there next time there’s a dragon or I'm shooting all your bad guys for you!”

“Just not if they’re darkspawn,” Bull smirked.

At that point, Varric and Dorian walked into the tavern, but Elphaba was not with them. Bull frowned, leaving the Chargers and Sera at their table, and ushered the mage and dwarf towards the bar.

“Well?” he looked at Dorian, annoyed.

“Don’t worry, I did what you asked,” Dorian reassured him, “You were right. She found me in the library and we had a little heart-to-heart about my father. She was… surprisingly understanding, actually. I honestly thought she’d think less of me, that she found the whole thing embarrassing. But talking to her, it felt good.”

“Yeah, I got one of those too,” added Varric, “I had a pretty pathetic moment of self-deprecation in front of her, and she was… kind about it, said I belonged here as much as anyone. Maker, she’s not an easy one to please, but shit if you don’t feel ridiculously proud of yourself when you do. Anyway, she must have found me before you, Sparkler, because she asked me where you were.”

“Yes, well before she left I told her she should come have a drink with us,” Dorian finished.

“And?” Bull cajoled.

“She said, and I quote, ‘Maybe I will’. Happy?”

“Good,” Bull smiled, “Now I better get a head start on all you lightweights,” and he uncorked a very large, musty looking bottle and poured some of its contents into a tankard.

“Maker’s breath, Tiny, my eyes are burning, what is _that_?” Varric asked.

“A little something special from my former Ben-Hassrath connections,” Bull explained, “Been saving it since I’m not getting my hands on another bottle any time soon, but no occasion is worthier than a dragon kill, am I right?”

Dorian wrinkled his nose, “Well, it’s all yours. And I imagine the bar table will be too if you don’t put a stopper in that thing, oouuf!”

Varric attempted to wave the fumes from his face, “So do you two think she’s actually going to come?”

Bull shivered slightly as he imagined her doing just that.

“You know, I think so,” Dorian offered.

“Do you want to bet on that? Because I don’t think she will,” contested Varric, “I saw Ruffles and what looked like a tailor hunting for her just before I came down here. If they catch her, she’s going to be with them for hours.”

“Oh she’ll definitely want a drink after that,” Dorian countered, “I’ll take that bet.”

“What are we betting on?” came a voice from behind them. Blackwall had decided to join the festivities.

Both Varric and Dorian did their best to hide the awkwardness from their faces, but they still took a little too long in answering.

Blackwall frowned, “What?”

“They’re betting on whether the Inquisitor will join us this evening,” Bull answered.

At that, Blackwall stiffened. Dorian and Varric quietly moved away to another table to hash out the bet. 

“You know, she doesn’t hate you,” Bull stated, “I think she’d actually be pleased to see you here.”

“Well, everyone else seems to hate me,” Blackwall sat at the recently vacated stool next to Bull, “and she has more reason than anyone.”

Bull recalled the moment she had rendered Blackwall’s judgement in the great hall. From the throne she had gazed upon him with glassy eyes, near to tears as he stood in chains before her. Never had he seen her composure so thinned in public like that. Then, after pardoning him, he had had the gall to accuse her of being complicit in his own crimes. The shocked whispers his words generated only intensified as he all but declared his love for her while advancing towards the throne. Josephine’s eyes had widened in fury at the jailers who had failed to keep a handle on him. Even in the face of that spectacle, Elphaba had maintained her grace, telling him firmly but politely that he was worth redemption, that his punishment would be to work at earning back the people’s trust. The obvious double-intimation was that their affair was finished.

“You just gotta give them time,” Bull took a swig of his drink and made a strange sound that was somewhere in between heaving and growling. “Relax, show them you’re doing well. You act all stiff and nervous like that, they’ll think you feel guilty and treat you like you are. Here, have a drink,” and he poured Blackwall a tankard of the qunari concoction. 

“But I _am_ guilty,” said Blackwall, irritated. He took a sniff at the tankard, sneezed violently, and pushed it away, “Maker’s balls, what _is_ that stuff?”

“You’re also trying to reinvent yourself,” Bull continued, “You have to _be_ that person if you want others to see you that way.”

Blackwall gritted his teeth, “That’s what I was doing before!”

“Nope. You were _pretending_ …” but before Bull could continue, he heard the din of the tavern die down.

Turning, he saw that the Inquisitor had finally appeared. She looked around uncertainly, noticing all the stares. Quickly, she caught sight of him at the bar, hard to miss as he was, and walked over. At the table nearby, Varric was grumpily counting out silvers for a smug Dorian.

As the Inquisitor approached, Blackwall stood up from his seat.

“Blackwall,” she gave a small smile, “I see you heard about the dragon. You having a drink?”

“Quite a feat,” he answered woodenly, “but I… I have other duties to attend to,” and he walked past her, leaving the tavern.

Elphaba sighed, her face falling. 

Bull looked after him irritatingly before turning to her, “Wow, boss, new outfit?”

“What? Oh,” she looked down at herself and put her hands on her hips, “Josephine says this is a new style from Nevarra. I like the colours, but I don’t know about the lace up here,” and she tugged lightly at her collar. “She says I have an… image problem. Some nonsense about all-black leather on a mage Inquisitor being too scary. The lace makes me more approachable… somehow,” she rolled her eyes.

Bull appraised Josephine’s choice. The tunic and trousers were still mostly black and form-fitting, as always, but now with samite and velvet, a dark red floral pattern, and sheer black lace up to the collar over the neckline, which was modestly cut. A silken black underbust corset with gold clasps and trimming completed the look. Yes, it did make her look softer while still being true to her preferred style.

Bull looked her up-and-down, slowly so she would notice. “Mmm, I like it,” he rumbled in a low voice, and he saw the near imperceptible hitch in her breath.

“I’m not sure I should have come,” she looked down, “Everyone’s staring at me.”

“They’re watching to see if you’re human,” Bull explained, “It’s that image problem you just mentioned.”

Elphaba raised an eyebrow, “So a new outfit and a few drinks in public are all it takes for people to think of me differently?”

“Yes,” he stated.

Her face became thoughtful, “Well, if it works…”

“It’s a start, anyways, so let’s show them,” and he shouted, “Inquisitor! Come, have a drink!” 

She sat down at the stool next to him, and he poured her a tankard from his bottle. Raising his own, he toasted, “To killing a high dragon like warriors of legend!”

Elphaba’s eyes squinted and blinked as she brought the tankard to her face. Grimacing, she asked, “What exactly am I supposed to be drinking?”

“Maraas-Lok,” he drawled.

“What does that mean?”

“It means drink!” he laughed.

Warily she looked into the tankard, then shrugged and took a quick swig. She swallowed and shuddered in a fit of coughs, her eyes watering, “Ooof!”

“I know, right?” Bull smiled. Knocking back a swig of his own he growled, “Put some chest on your chest!”

Elphaba glanced down at herself comically, as if to say, _Like I need anymore of that!_

A faraway look came to Bull’s face as he reminisced about the dragon battle. “That little gurgle right before it spat fire, and that roar! What I wouldn’t give to roar like that!”

Recalling Bull’s vocal performance on the ridge, Elphaba smiled at the thought.

“The way the ground shook when it landed, the smell of the fires burning… Taarsidath-an halsaam!”

She looked at him curiously, expecting him to explain the phrase.

He poured himself another drink. “You know, qunari hold dragons sacred. Well… as much as we hold anything sacred,” he chuckled, “Here, your turn,” and he refilled Elphaba’s tankard.

“That thing you just said. You shouted it during the fight too. What does it mean?” she asked.

“Oh? Taarsidath-an halsaam. The closest translation would be ‘I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect’,” he grinned.

Elphaba cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow, “You said _that_ while it was breathing fire at us.”

“I know, right? Heh!” he grunted.

The corner of Elphaba’s mouth rose and she shook her head before knocking back another swig. Once again, she choked on it, but the fit didn’t last as long this time.

“Yeeees, the second cup’s easier. Most of the nerves in your throat are dead after the first one,” he nodded sagely and took another drink himself.

Elphaba nodded back, her eyes glazing over slightly. The stuff was strong.

“Ataashi. ‘The glorious ones’. That’s our word for them,” Bull explained. “Ataaaasheeeee.”

She asked, with a slight slur in her voice, “Why do you think the qunari think of dragons that way?”

“Well, you know how we have horns? We kind of look more… dragony… than most other people. Maybe it’s that,” Bull mused, his own thoughts becoming fuzzy, “But a few of the Ben-Hassrath have this crazy old theory. See, the tamassrans control who we mate with. They breed us for jobs like you’d breed dogs or horses.”

Elphaba’s eyes widened at that.

“What if they mixed in some dragon a long time ago? Maybe drinking the blood, maybe magic, I don’t know,” Bull shrugged, “But something in that dragon we killed… spoke to me.”

“When you put it like that,” Elphaba winced, “I’m worried we killed one of your gods or something…”

“Nah, one of Tevinter’s gods maybe,” Bull wondered, “They worshipped dragons, right? Kill the shit out of them all you like!”

Elphaba nodded. She seemed to quite enjoy listening to him talk about dragons.

“Dragons are the embodiment of raw power,” he continued, “but it’s all uncontrolled, wild. So, they need to be destroyed. Taming the wild. Order out of chaos. Have another drink!” he urged as he refilled both of their tankards.

Astonishingly, she knocked back yet another swig, then braced her arms on the table to keep her head from spinning.

“Hahaha, nice!” Bull shouted, impressed. “To dragons!” he toasted, and swallowed the last of his drink, coughing violently as it corroded his throat.

“To dragons!” came many voices from throughout the now very busy tavern. 

Elphaba slowly stood up and raised her mug. Wobbling slightly, all eyes were on her as she burst out, “To the Iron Bull!”

“And his ass-kicking Inquisitor!” he added, and the tavern erupted in laughter and hearty cheers of approval.

Elphaba slumped back down, grabbing at his arm to keep from falling over. She was laughing as well, but not at his expense. She smiled up at him, her face flushed from the drink, and her sparkling blue eyes beamed with unmasked affection. 

“You’re awesome, Inquisitor!” came a shout from somewhere, probably Dalish.

The atmosphere was heady, and Bull realized he may have overdone it when he couldn’t stop himself leaning down towards her, “Hey… hey, Kadan, listen…” he slurred, “You know, I always wanna say this, and I never can when we’re off saving the world…”

She raised her brows expectantly.

“You’ve got fantastic tits.”

“Awww,” she mocked, leaning into his arm, “Took you long enough to get _that_ one out of your system.”

 _Wow. Smooth, Bull._ He only hoped she was too far gone to ask what 'Kadan' meant…

“My, my, what have you done with our illustrious leader, Tiny?” Varric and Dorian came over to join them.

“Indeed,” added Dorian, “because if she’s an impostor I have to give thirty silvers back to Varric.”

“Oh, come on,” Elphaba drawled, “Is my being here really that shocking? Even if it’s for dragons?”

“Evidently,” Dorian smirked, “given only a qunari trained in deep psychological reading from infancy was able to predict your appearance.”

“Don’t get us wrong, though, Inquisitor,” reassured Varric, “This is a welcome surprise,” and he smiled at her warmly.

“How about a round on me?” Dorian offered, “Let’s put Varric’s coin to good use.”

“Have you tried this stuff?” Elphaba thrust her mug at Dorian, “It’s a qunari drink, but it’s really good!”

“Oh good gods!” Dorian leaned back suddenly, “And here I thought your secret was Ben-Hassrath training, but no, it’s just dragon piss.”

“Hahaha!” Bull burst into a hearty laugh, “See? Dragons make everything better!”

“To dragons!” Elphaba shouted and finished the last of the drink, this time swallowing it without incident.

“To dragons!” the tavern echoed again, but the Inquisitor was looking past Dorian with narrowed eyes.

“Well, that settles it,” Dorian continued, “Time for a new round…”

“Hey, hey!” shouted the Inquisitor, pointing behind him, “Yes, you.”

A soldier further down the bar table stiffened and looked over at them with wide eyes. “Inquisitor!” he squeaked.

“What’s that you just ordered?” she asked, nodding at the cup in his hand, “I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

Bull gave Elphaba a quizzical look. She was grinning, and her eyes flashed dangerously.

The soldier looked down at the cup in his hands and his cheeks flushed, “It’s… uh…”

“Why, it’s blue!” Dorian exclaimed, taking a closer look.

“Uh oh…” muttered Varric under his breath, “I think I know what that is.”

“It’s… it’s called…” the soldier stammered, his eyes shifting nervously, “a… a frosty witch...”

“Really,” Elphaba replied, “Because I could’ve swore I heard you say ‘frosty…’,”

“Pitch extract of the Korth pine, crystal grace gin, and freshly fallen snow,” came a mellow voice from behind the bar table. 

All of them turned to the dwarven barman while the soldier hastily scurried off.

“That’s the drink,” he explained, “The crystal grace berries impart the key flavour and blue colour, the pine pitch adds an earthy sweetness, and the snow makes it refreshing. My best work, I’d say. Actually, it was some prankster put the snow in for a laugh while I was experimenting, but you can’t argue with the result.” He eyed the Inquisitor, unflinching, “You want one, Your Worship?”

“One for all of us!” Dorian replied enthusiastically.

“Coming right up,” the barman brought out four cups and got to work.

When he took the cups out back, no doubt for the snow, Elphaba looked at the others and bit her lip. “That drink, it’s named after me, isn’t it,” she gave a strained smile.

“Oh, don’t give it much thought,” Bull reassured, “It’s all in good fun.”

“Best to just take these sorts of things in stride, I find,” advised Dorian.

The barman returned and placed the drinks in front of them.

“Well, cheers to our Lady Inquisitor,” Varric raised his cup, and he, Dorian, and Elphaba tasted the blue mixture.

Bull, however, sniffed his cup and eyed the drink warily.

“That is… surprisingly good,” Dorian appraised.

“Not as sweet as I expected given the pine syrup,” Elphaba commented, “and nippy going down. It’s practically the opposite of what you gave me, Bull, but I quite like it.”

“Not bad…” added Varric.

The Iron Bull still hadn’t sipped his own.

“Give it a try!” Elphaba urged him.

“Hrrm,” Bull grunted, “Smells like something the tamas would force sick children to take.”

In a low, husky voice only he could hear, she purred, “Aw, Bull, don’t you want to find out what I taste like?”

The sudden boldness caught him off guard and his mind reeled at the imagery she conjured. He could have her tonight if he wanted…

Still, his training allowed him to maintain his composure and he pretended not to have heard her. 

“Oh, don’t be an infant about it or Varric will never let you hear the end of it,” Dorian laughed. 

“The Iron Bull’s greatest fear… flowery drinks,” dramatized Varric.

“Argh, fine!” Bull groaned, and tossed back the entire cup in one shot.

The frosty witch left an icy chill in his throat, and a warmth bloomed in his belly, astringent rather than burning. The pine and berries made him think of the still, quiet woods that surrounded Skyhold, of crisp mountain air. The tastes felt alienating and unfamiliar on his qunari tongue. He wanted to hate it, but the drink was the distilled essence of the Inquisition’s newfound home in the Frostbacks. And in spite of the flavours themselves, that effect was comforting.

“Well, that was a complex expression if I ever saw one,” remarked Varric.

“Get out of here, are you guys drinking my drink?” Sera burst into the midst of them red-faced and giggling.

“ _Your_ drink?” the Inquisitor asked, confused, “You should tell the barman, he’s taking all the credit for it!”

“Oh yeah, he made it I guess,” acknowledged Sera, “but the name’s mine,” she smiled proudly.

“Of course it is,” Dorian sighed.

“You see? This way, we all get our very own frosty bitches,” she looked around at them as if this made the clearest sense in the world. 

At the blank stares she rolled her eyes, “You know? A little something that’s cold and harsh going down, but good for you. Makes you feel warm, fresh like you’re starting over, and ready to take on whatever!”

Dorian’s face softened in understanding, “Something that reminds us who’s got our backs in a tight spot…”

Sera’s face brightened, “Yeah! See? You get it!”

Bull watched Elphaba’s face carefully at this revelation. She looked at Sera with newfound appreciation, clearly touched. 

“Sera, that’s…” she stuttered to find words, and simply settled on a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

“Awww, knew you were a big softy under there,” Sera giggled, “You should drink with us more, yeah? Remind everyone you’re still one of us.”

Bull smiled, “Alright, enough of this mushy stuff. Try a real drink, Sera. What would you name this?”

“Oh no, not again,” Varric covered his nose.

“Eeeewww, what is that?” Sera scrunched up her face, “Qunari spit? From a toxic qun spitting pissbucket!”

They all burst into laughter as she ran off.

Eventually, a barmaid came by to collect all their empty cups and tankards. 

“Wow, I can’t believe you’re here, Inquisitor! Did you really kill a dragon by shooting it down from the sky with magic?” 

Elphaba smiled back at her, “Of course I’m here! And yes I did, but I had help." She turned to Bull and gave him a wink.

The sexy little way her cheek pinched nearly made him kiss her right there.

The barmaid continued, “Well, of course. Can’t imagine any dragon stands a chance against this stud,” and she fluttered her fingers over Bull’s biceps.

Elphaba gave a light laugh, “Ha, I think that’s my cue to leave!” and she stood up, still wobbling to keep her balance.

“Come on, stay!” protested Varric, “I was just about to get a game of Wicked Grace going upstairs. You should join us!”

“It’s tempting,” Elphaba considered, “but I’m very much not sober enough for it. And Cullen has a hundred things to show me tomorrow morning.”

“Well, I’m saving a game for you, Inquisitor. Sparkler, walk her up to the great hall, would you? No one ever listens to my requests to put railings on those damn stairs.”

Elphaba put up a hand, “Just a moment…” and she turned back to Bull, who still had the barmaid blushing on his arm. She put a hand on his shoulder, “Bull…”

“I hope you had a good time, boss,” he said to her gently.

She gave him a knowing look, “I did. Dorian asked me to come here, but I know this was your doing. Thank you,” her expression was warm and genuine.

“Any time, boss,” he smiled, “Have a good night.”

She gave a sly glance at the barmaid, “You too,” and she winked at him again.

Dorian held out his arm for her with a dramatic flair. She comically linked her own with it, and they swaggered out of the tavern as if they were back at Halamshiral, cackling while trying to keep straight faces.

“You know where to find me,” the barmaid whispered in Bull’s ear, and she went off to continue serving the tavern’s patrons.

“There anything left in there?” Varric eyed the qunari bottle on the table, “If the Inquisitor enjoyed it, maybe I should give it a try.”

“Just a drop,” Bull said, holding the bottle up to a torch before handing it to Varric.

_*Choke* *gasp* *cough* *gurgle*_

“Andraste’s shit and ashes in a hand basket!” Varric cursed, eyes watering.

“Aahaha!” Bull roared, “You’ve got enough hair on your chest already, dwarf.”

“I can’t believe she actually liked that!”

“I think there are a lot of things the Inquisitor likes that we’d find surprising…” Bull grinned as his thoughts raced, “She’s a complicated woman.”


	3. In Skyhold, The Bull Rides You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Before she could speak, he started casually, “So… listen, I’ve caught the hints. I get what you're saying. You want to ‘ride the Bull’.”_
> 
> The Iron Bull decides it's time to make his first move on Lady Elphaba Trevelyan. After careful planning, he sneaks into her quarters one evening. Can Bull maintain the upper hand against the Inquisitor's (rather formidable) charms?

After the dragon party in the tavern, the Iron Bull spent nearly all his spare time the following day, between training exercises and debriefings with the Chargers, to mentally prepare his next move. He had spent much of the night “considering” various options as well… Katrina, the barmaid, must have been disappointed when he did not seek her out, but this was too important.

As he settled on the best possible scenario with calculated precision, he couldn’t help but become slightly giddy in anticipation. If he was right, and he was almost certain he was at this point, he would be able to provide Elphaba a perfectly tailored evening of release from her world-shaking responsibilities. Ideally, the effect of his attentions would last beyond the night and make her next few days easier as well.

He needed to be discreet, and also catch her off-guard, else she might second-guess the proposition for fear of gossip and whispers (there were already an infuriating number of mutterings regarding her and Dorian). He ran through a mental checklist: Silk scarves compactly rolled up to fit unobtrusive in his pocket, the narrower belt with older, softer leather on his trousers today, a few soft linen hand towels and a cooling balm in his other pocket, and a master lockpick nicked from Sera’s cabinet, just in case... 

The Inquisitor’s usual evening routine was to have a final debriefing with her advisers at the war table, then go to her quarters to wash and dress for dinner. Her meal was typically a drawn out affair that allowed her to discuss more public matters with her advisers, and schmooze with visiting dignitaries. On the rare days that were less busy, and when there were no guests, she would dine alone in her quarters.

Bull made sure to eat early so he could see when she emerged for dinner. She wore the new Nevarran outfit again. A warmth settled in his gut as he revelled in the thought of slowly freeing her from it later that night, one clasp at a time…

Nonchalantly, he was able to make his way to the end of the hall towards the throne, chatting up the table as he went along. At night, the door to her quarters next to the throne was covered in shadows, so he was able to slip through it unnoticed. There were more stairs up into the tower than he realized, and panting slightly at the top he considered it rather impressive that Elphaba made the trip several times a day. Or could she secretly fly? He didn’t consider that outside the realm of possibility. Or perhaps it was… what had Dalish called it? A Fade-step? The idea of her using magic to do something as mundane as climbing stairs made him laugh internally. 

The final door to her quarters was locked, as he suspected. Elphaba was fierce about her privacy. Multiple times he had heard the servants comment on how she insisted on looking after the space herself. As a former Circle mage, that little quirk about her made complete sense, but hadn’t helped the gossip about what kinds of spooky magic she got up to when she was alone. Thankfully, Sera’s lockpick made short work of the bolt, and he entered, locking the door again behind him. He had jokingly wondered if there wouldn’t be some kind of magical seal as well, which would have truly been beyond him to deal with, but was then almost surprised when there wasn’t.

Bull shrugged and continued into her quarters. He gave a low whistle at their spaciousness and laughed at how meticulously tidy everything was. Yet another prediction spot on. She already had a steady fire burning, so he went into the washing alcove and brought back a basin. He took a scoop of water from the douse bucket and placed it next to the fire to warm up, laying the linen towels beside it. He then appraised her bed, a beautiful mahogany four-poster, heavy and solid. Good. It was covered in scrumptiously plush burgundy pillows and a huge black bearskin. Of course, he thought, and smiled. 

It seemed her sitting area was prepped for some “light” reading before sleep. She had set a glass of something oily and clear that smelled faintly medicinal upon the small table next to her couch. There was also a small dish of what looked to be nuts or seeds that he couldn’t identify. On the couch itself lay a large, imposingly thick tome covered in strange runes that Bull did not want to touch. He lifted it gingerly by its corners as if it were raw lyrium and carried it to her desk, and then took a moment to peruse some of the books in her mini-library. They were mostly either incredibly boring, or incredibly terrifying, but there were a few of Tethras’ in the mix too. There was also another shelf covered with bottles in a dizzying variety of shapes, sizes, colours, and strange labels, all of which made him nervous.

She had left the doors onto the balconies ajar for ventilation so he stepped out into the night for a few breaths of crisp air. The moon was full and bright, casting eerie rays through the shadowed clouds surrounding it. Bull looked over the railing into the garden below, which was completely darkened from this height. The drop was stomach-churning so he quickly looked away again. The temperature outside at this altitude was unforgivingly cold, so he returned inside. 

After he finished his little tour of her quarters he simply sat on the side of her bed and waited.

### 

The Iron Bull’s heart skipped a beat as he heard the latch of the door click and Elphaba’s footsteps on the stairs. She was engrossed with a document in her hands so she didn’t even notice him as she walked straight out onto the balcony. He saw her lean onto the railing to finish reading it under the moonlight. The pose arched her back and pushed out her bottom suggestively. She shuffled her feet now and then, which made her waist wiggle, and it took some intense mental discipline for Bull to keep himself from going out to her. How was she comfortable out there without even a cloak anyway?

After a few minutes, she finally turned to come back inside. She stiffened suddenly when she saw him on the bed.

Before she could speak, he started casually, “So… listen, I’ve caught the hints. I get what you're saying. You want to ‘ride the Bull’.” He paused and gave her a dark stare. Standing up, he took a few steps toward her and continued, “Can’t say that I blame you. But I’m not sure you know what you’re asking.” He smiled internally at the way she backed away from him. He had, just for an instant, frightened her. Good. “Not sure if you’re ready for it,” he finished, and gave her a look of slight condescension.

Elphaba’s eyes narrowed and the corner of her mouth lifted, “Is this.. is this about Blackwall?” she asked, placing the document on the side table next to her couch, “I thought I made it pretty clear he wasn’t in the picture anymore.” She bit her lip and her eyes relaxed into a sultry glare. “Because, oh I’m ready for it,” she purred.

No incredulity, no questions about how he managed to get into her room, not even a hello. After how she just seemed to stoically “go” with all the insane shit that happened to her, this blunt boldness was not unexpected in hindsight, but challenged Bull in the moment nonetheless.

“See, you say that,” Bull gave her a predatory smile and moved closer to her, “but you _really_ don’t know what that means.”

She cocked her head and raised a brow. “So why don’t you show me?” she invited in a low, husky tone. Fuck, she was hot enough without meaning to be, but when she turned it on deliberately… Poor Blackwall must have been whipped.

Bull deftly gathered her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head against the wall behind her.

She gave a startled gasp and her sapphire eyes flashed. He felt a slight tingle on his fingers where he touched her skin.

He looked down at her, unable to hide the desire in his expression, “Last chance…” he offered.

She met his gaze unblinking, and replied in a firm voice barely above a whisper, “A little slower… and a lot harder.”

He grinned and swept her towards the couch. Placing both hands on her shoulders, he sat her down before kneeling at her feet. Carefully, he began to untie the laces of her boots. She leaned back and looked down at him with a smirk on her face.

She thought she was running the show. Good. Her boldness was going to make this even better than he had imagined. He’d have to be very cautious though, because her dominance had already begun working on him. Her voice, her inflections, the minute shifts in the muscles around her eyes, cheeks, and mouth, the way her posture adjusted… Shite, as Sera would say. 

With her boots and stockings off, he took one foot in his large hands and started to massage it. First the sole and heel, then each toe, and finally her ankle and calf, every trigger point getting targeted attention from his deft fingers. Elphaba’s eyes closed and she tilted her head back, enjoying the warmth of his hands and the relief they brought. He did the same to the other foot, and she was still content. No impatience… yet. 

“Gotta make sure you don’t cramp up later,” he teased.

The way the moonlight streamed through the intricate Serault stained-glass of her windows was surreal, bathing her in an unearthly glow. For a moment he imagined her sitting like this, only naked, on the throne in the great hall in the dead of night, while he knelt at her feet worshipping her with his mouth between her thighs…

 _Vashedan, it was happening again!_ Suddenly, Blackwall’s behaviour during his judgement didn’t seem so unreasonable.

Standing up, he held out a hand and she allowed him to lift her from the couch. She started to advance on him, but he interrupted her.

“Stand over there in front of the bed post,” he directed.

She did as he asked, and gave him a curious look, intrigued about where this was going.

Again he gathered Elphaba’s wrists in his left hand and pinned them above her head, “Now, don’t. move.”

She gave a single, firm nod in understanding.

Her breathing quickened as he then leaned down towards her neck to take in the scent of her. He barely made contact, his stubble only brushing against her cheek. Her heaving chest just grazed his own each time she inhaled.

“You smell like a dragon, you know,” he murmured into her collar.

He felt her smile, “Elemental magic,” she explained, and again there was a tingle in his fingers where they touched the bare skin of her hands. “You’d get it if you were up this close to Dorian or Solas too."

Bull smiled in return and grunted, “Maybe, and yet it’s only _your_ robes I think about ripping off after a fight…”

She whispered, “That’s because you’re not actually frightened of them. But you are of me,” and he shivered at the feel of her breath on his ear. Comically, she added, “There’s also the fantastic tits I suppose…” and he placed a slow kiss on her neck just below her jaw. 

Initially sliding his tongue over her skin, he made her whimper when he sucked hard and nipped. At the same time he slid his right hand over her waist and down her back to grab a handful of her ass. So firm… and so generous... Yeah, it was pretty fantastic too. His motion pressed the full lengths of their bodies together. She gasped and the resulting pressure of her breasts against him made his cock twitch. Growling into her neck, Bull breathed her in, relishing the closeness. He groped her thoroughly, squeezing, pushing, and parting with fervour. Reaching further down he could feel her heat, but stopped short of touching her there. She almost lost control then. He felt her thigh spasm, like she was going to lift it, maybe to straddle his leg or his waist. But she didn’t, and simply squirmed instead. 

Bull broke their contact slowly and enjoyed the site of Elphaba’s face flushed with desire, the beginnings of a bruise on her neck where he’d bitten her. Still holding her hands up with his left hand, he used his right to begin undoing the clasps of her corset, and then her tunic, at an agonizing pace. He wanted to savour every moment of this, and so did she, it seemed, as she patiently watched him. 

He tossed the corset onto the couch and let the tunic fall open. Her pale skin made a stark contrast to the dark fabric. With his free hand, Bull slowly caressed her abdomen, fingers tracing the waistline of her trousers and the dip of her belly button. Moving up to her waist, he gave a light squeeze, her skin soft and warm under his palm. He grazed his thumb over the bottom of her breast, then in light, meandering circles over and around, and finally a flutter over a hard, erect nipple. 

How quiet she was! He could feel so many responses in her breathing, in the light spasms everywhere he touched, yet the loudest sound that came from her was a gasp. No doubt her time at the Circle had trained her to mute herself during whatever dalliances she managed to have. But here, that wouldn’t do at all.

“Remember, don’t move,” he reminded her as he let her wrists go. 

He went at her breasts suddenly then with both hands, roughly fondling and kneading. That made her gasp again, only this time it was more vocal. She trembled under him, resisting the urge to push herself into his grasp. Taking both her nipples in a light pinch, he slowly ramped up the pressure he applied to them. As he reached her tolerance threshold she gave a low sigh, “Ooooh…”

“Yes, no muting yourself with me. I want to hear every single sound you make,” he commanded. 

Gently, he brought her arms back down, but only to slide the tunic off of her completely. As with the corset, he tossed it onto the couch.

“Back up,” he ordered.

As she returned her hands to their proper position above her head, he nodded approvingly at the smooth extension of her lateral muscles, the contraction of her neck and shoulders, the way the movement made her breasts lift slightly. Fuck, they really were unbelievably gorgeous. 

He gave her an intense, unbroken stare as he unfastened his chest harness and let it fall to the floor with a thud. Next, he removed his leg brace and kicked off his huge boots to join it.

“Now, where was I?” he grunted and pressed himself against her, relishing the feel of her naked breasts on his chest. 

Reaching under her arm, he brought his right hand behind her and tangled his fingers in her midnight hair, upsetting the bun as he forced her head to tilt upward. He leaned down and kissed her hungrily but sensually, keeping his jaw relaxed. Her mouth opened, inviting him in. His tongue probed just under her lips, ran along her teeth. With his left hand, he cupped her ass and pressed her closer. He felt the length of his hardness push against her belly through his trousers, and a shiver ran down Elphaba’s core. He sucked roughly on her bottom lip, grazing it with his teeth and he felt a groan in the back of her throat.

He broke the kiss slowly, tugging at her lower lip as he moved away and bent down to her chest. Kneading with his hands, he brought her breasts together and ran his tongue over their cleavage, then continued to suck and nip all over, at times harsh and biting, others light and teasing. When his teeth finally grazed over a nipple she gave her first real moan. This only increased his excitement, and he buried his face further into her. Cradling the back of his head, she pulled him close and leaned into his wandering ministrations. He made a guttural sound in pleasure as her fingers traced the outline of his ears, and tickled the sensitive spots at the base of his horns. His skin buzzed with delicate, static jolts where she touched him. 

Looking up at Elphaba, he lost himself in her mesmerizing eyes. They glowed with a deep brilliance like the clear, warm seas off the Boeric coast of Seheron. Her mouth hung open slightly, lower lip swollen from his previous attention. Her impossibly black hair had come partially undone and hung in lustrous, messy waves about her face, tumbling down over her shoulders and chest. He moved his head up slightly so a tendril would brush over his nose. Such a light, delicate sensation, he shut his good eye in bliss. 

It was only after he broke eye contact that he realized… Her hands were down. 

_Fuck_. It was so easy to just fall into her, to let her lead him with the dark promises behind her eyes. As heavenly as it would be to go along, that wouldn’t be fair to her. No, with him Elphaba was finally going to be the one swept away; the one who would get to delight in following for a change. 

Sternly, he backed away from her. She looked at him in confusion.

“I told you not to move.” His voice was quiet, dangerously authoritative. 

Yes, there in her eyes! Very briefly there was a fear she had disappointed him.

“I…” she started.

“Silence,” he commanded forcefully, without raising his voice. 

Her mouth closed and she watched him intensely as he pulled a red silk scarf from his pocket.

“Hold out your hands,” he ordered her, and she obeyed.

With careful precision he wrapped the scarf over her wrists in wide cuffs, fastening a knot between them. Her eyes went wide when she realized her wrists were firmly bound together. Gently, he held open one of her hands, placed the loose end of the knot in her palm, and closed her fingers over it.

“Keep a hold of that,” he said softly. “If anything that happens is too much, pushes you from thrill and pleasure into unacceptable pain or dread, let it go. I will stop immediately and free you.”

Her face relaxed into an expression of amazement, clearly unfamiliar with such a thoughtful dynamic. She nodded, “I understand.”

He then took a second scarf from his pocket and tied it over the knot between her wrists. Holding the other end, he led her back to the bed post and brought the scarf up and around the post’s top knob. Pulling the scarf raised her arms over her head once again, though this time he hitched her up so high her arms were fully extended, taut behind her head. She was only able to touch the ground with the tips of her toes. She gasped as the motion stretched her out. He then fastened the scarf with another knot around the middle of the post to keep her in place.

“Now, that’s more like it,” he growled, and he could see Elphaba’s pulse quicken at the arteries in her neck, straining as she was in this new, uncompromising position. Forced to stand on her toes, both her chest and ass were exquisitely thrust outward.

“If you won’t follow my rules, there will be consequences,” and he roughly grabbed her waist and spun her body around so her back was facing him.

Stepping away, he slowly removed his belt. He wanted to make sure she could hear the clink of the buckle coming undone, the rustle of leather against cloth, the soft creak as he folded it. The belt itself was of a width to form more of a paddle than a strap, and that was still narrow for him given the massive pieces he usually wore.

Her breath hitched in anticipation, knowing what was coming. Her body squirmed against her bonds, but she did not let go of the scarf in her hand. He took a moment just to tortuously watch her toned back and arm muscles straining, casting beautifully sculpted shadows over her skin in the firelight as she continually adjusted herself in an attempt to find a more stable stance.

“Tell me what you want, Elphaba,” he said in a cold, even tone.

“I want you to untie me so I can ice your ass,” she sneered.

_Whack!_

She inhaled sharply.

“What do you want, Elphaba?” he asked again.

She grunted, but said nothing.

 _Whack!_ Harder this time.

 _*GASP!*_ A couple of red welts were forming.

He raised the belt again, but swung just short of making contact. 

Her whole body flinched violently.

“Are you afraid of me, Elphaba?”

“No!” she answered defiantly, then whispered “Bastard…”

_Whack!_

“Unnghh!” she moaned, and his cock somehow became even harder than it already was.

He paused and observed the flush on her face behind the mess of black waves, the sheen of sweat that glistened over her skin, the way her legs shuffled and squirmed.

“What do you want, Elphaba?” he asked again, more quietly this time.

She gave a barely audible whisper.

“What was that?” he queried condescendingly.

 _*hit me*_ A small voice.

“I still can’t hear you.”

“Hit me!” she shouted.

“Full sentence, and be polite,” he sneered.

There was a moment of silence, and he could almost hear Elphaba gulp down her pride.

Finally, in an even, husky voice she said, “I want you, the Iron Bull, to hit me… please,” she added in a tone of such salacious yearning he complied a little too eagerly.

_WHACK!_

“Aaaaaahhh!” An agonizingly beautiful sound, right on that delicious knife edge between pain and ecstasy. Oh, how complete he would be if he could get her to cry out like that while deep inside of her…

Finally, he gave one more light thwack, this time against her bottom. 

She jumped a little.

“For the attitude,” he explained, and he could see her eyes narrow. 

Still defiant. More work was needed.

He came up behind her, slowly so she could register his body heat. Very lightly, he ran his fingers over the red welts on her back. Her muscles convulsed and she let out a whimper that gave him goosebumps. He took a small bottle from another pocket and shook a coin-sized drop of cooling balm from it. Rubbing it between his hands first, he gently spread it over her back with wide smooth strokes. He felt her muscles relax as he worked so that she hung more comfortably by the time he was done. Her spine and arms had lengthened enough to allow her heels to touch the floor again. 

He pressed his body against her back and slid his arms around her waist possessively. Leaning down, he buried his face in her hair, so dark and soft, breathing in her scent again. He removed the remaining pins and let the locks tumble down free. She moaned when she registered his hardness behind her and he felt her ass grind into him just barely, mindful as she was of breaking his one rule for her. He reached up to grope her breasts and couldn’t help but undulate his own hips in slow, small thrusts in response. 

She was making small noises with almost every breath now. He let his hands wander back down to her waist where he started to untie the lace strings of her trousers. Inch-by-inch he shimmied the tight fabric down over her hips along with her smallclothes, her bottom jiggling slightly as it was freed. The trousers fell to a pool at her feet, but her smalls clung to her centre very obviously before following them. Guiding her one foot at a time, he gathered up the clothes and tossed them onto the couch with the rest of her outfit. 

He knelt down behind her and ran his hands up along her now exposed thighs. Bringing his mouth down to her lower cheeks, he began applying his lips and tongue with the same enthusiasm he had done earlier on her breasts. As the stubble of his chin grazed the divot between cheek and thigh, she gave a small giggle. Such an unusual sound from Elphaba, it delighted him beyond reason. He ran his fingernails lightly along the ticklish spot and smiled wolfishly at the way her ass clenched in response. 

Bringing his hands to her hips, he turned her back around to face him. Her sex was right at his eye level. He gave a guttural growl at the sight of her thick black curls. They glistened with her desire for him at the apex of her triangle, fleshy outer lips only just visible amidst them. Mouth slightly open, he simply stared at her for what seemed an eternity. The scent of her arousal nearly sent him into a trance. 

Finally he looked up at Elphaba and saw her looking down at him, lashes lowered. Her hair had fallen around her face and spilled over her jutting breasts. He saw that her cheeks were a deep red. So he had finally found something that truly made Elphaba blush, and it was as simple as staring longingly at her exposed cunt for minutes on end.

He reached a hand up towards her and ran his fingers gently over the curls on her mound. She parted her thighs just enough for one of his thick fingers to run along the length of her slit. She shuddered right down to her core and threw her head back at the minimal contact. He brought the finger to his lips and quickly sucked it clean, closing his eye to fully enjoy the taste of her. 

“Hmmm,” he murmured, “the real thing is infinitely better than the tavern drink,” and she smiled bashfully. 

He shuffled closer and with a grunt, hauled both her legs up over his shoulders in one forceful motion. She gave a low yelp of surprise at that. The redness on her face bloomed down to her neck as she had no choice but to widely part her thighs to accommodate the position. The resulting view of her cunt spread open mere inches from his face was nothing short of magnificent. Once again, he simply stared in appreciation for a moment, taking in every exhilarating, wet detail. 

“Has no one ever done this to you before?” he asked, and the low rumble of his voice down there, slightly muffled, made her tremble.

She took a stuttered breath and shook her head, but still held on tightly to the scarf.

“Idiots, all of them,” he muttered, and closed the remaining distance with his mouth. 

With his hands on her ass to keep her in place, he ran his tongue along her inner thigh where a trail of her juices had seeped down. She gave a quiet cry as his mouth made its way up to her centre, his horns grazing her hips as he leaned in deeper. Her soft curls brushed his nose as he traced her opening with his tongue, and then ran it along her engorged inner lips up to her clit, which had emerged from its sheath. He applied a gentle pressure with the flat of his tongue, and she gave another cry, higher in pitch than anything she had yet uttered.

He worked his magic over her for a time, enjoying her taste, her scent, her slick softness, but he made sure to keep all his movements achingly slow. He felt her arousal, and frustration, building. Good. It was his goal to string her as tight as possible, so he stopped his attentions short of bringing her to release, and brought her legs back down.

Standing up, he saw the dissatisfaction on her face and smirked, “Oh not yet, Elphaba, I’ve still got so many plans for you.”

Suddenly she snarled and with a surprising amount of strength pulled herself up the scarf, lifted both her legs, and wrapped them tightly around his waist. Her cunt was right on the shaft of his cock, with only the cloth of his trousers between them. Bull growled loudly in surprise, delight, and indignation. So she wanted to be a fighter? Alright then.

“Haven’t learned your lesson yet?” he sneered, and forcefully undid the slipknot in the middle of the bed post.

The sudden release caught her by surprise and she fell forward onto his chest. Grabbing her by the hips he tried to shove off the death grip her legs had around him. She merely clung tighter, and he heard her give a low laugh, the way she did in a fight when she was toying with her opponents. Bull took his time grappling with her, too much was he enjoying the feel of her body battling with his own. Eventually he was able to hook an arm between his waist and one of her thighs and pry it off. The other quickly followed as she readied to fall, but instead he scooped her up with his other arm and carried her in a rather undignified way to the side of the bed.

Sitting down, he pulled her across his lap face down and used his foot to trap the end of the silk scarf attached to her wrists. This effectively immobilized her upper body, preventing her from lifting herself up.

She quickly registered the position he had put her in and he saw her eyes go wide with fury. 

“Don’t you fucking dare!” she hissed, and struggled against the restraints on her wrists. And yet, she still had a tight grip on the end of the scarf in her hands.

Cupping the palm of his hand, he spanked her ass. Hard. _Smack!_

She gave a loud gasp and went near completely still.

“Now I think you’re finally starting to understand how this works,” he laughed smugly.

“You ass!” she snarled.

 _Smack!_ Harder this time, and she yelped.

“What’s the rule, Elphaba? Show me that you understand,” he commanded.

“When I get out of this, your cock is an icicle!”

 _Smack! Smack! SMACK!_ Valiantly, she tried to contain her voice, but failed at the last strike, which forced a muffled grunt from her lips.

“What was the one rule you were supposed to follow?”

“Fuck you!”

“Yes, that’s part of it,” he smirked, “but only when I decide you’re ready. You. Only. Move. When. I. Tell. You,” and he punctuated each word with another spank. Oh the delightful way her flesh shook!

She groaned loudly and suggestively at each strike, and when he was finished her ass was bright red. Though she tried to hide it, he could feel her pelvis rocking over his lap in constrained little thrusts.

He leaned down towards her head and sniggered quietly, “You like this, don’t you?”

She looked up at him angrily, face red, but said nothing.

Reaching between her ass-cheeks, he probed a finger over her cunt. She immediately brought her thighs together in response, but it didn’t take much of a search to discover how soaked she was. 

He chuckled mercilessly, “I just licked you clean, and now look at you. A hard spanking makes the witch wet in record time. Good to know!”

Teasingly, he ran his fingers over her now sensitive rump, and she shuddered, letting out a whimper. He continued to play with feather-light strokes and lazy grazes with his nails over her ass and thighs, tracing imaginary circles and patterns, her body writhing all the while. Torturing Elphaba was far too much fun.

Once again he fished out the cooling balm from his pocket and carefully applied it to her stinging skin. She sighed in relief as he worked. Eventually he felt her body settle to become completely limp and relaxed over him.

Defeated as she was, he met no resistance except a spasm of surprise when he probed her cunt with his finger again, patiently but insistingly pushing at her entrance. She was so wet and exhausted that his finger slipped into her easily and she readily accepted a second, and then even a third. She squirmed pitifully as he invaded her, massaging and stretching.

“So…” he rumbled quietly, “what’s the rule, Elphaba?”

Resigned, she replied, “You give the orders. I only move when you tell me to.”

“Correct,” he approved. “I suppose I shouldn’t blame you. After all I did open with ‘You want to ride the Bull’, didn’t I?” 

She nodded.

“Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate,” and suddenly he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled up her head.

She gasped. Leaning down he looked her straight in the eyes. “Because the truth is, the Bull wants to ride you, and _now_ you’re finally ready for it.”

And with that he picked her up by the waist in one arm and gathered up the bearskin in the other. Throwing it down onto the floor at the foot of the bed, he unceremoniously tumbled her onto her back atop it and tied her wrists to one of the bed legs.

Standing before her, the Iron Bull undid his trousers and let them fall to his feet. Finally getting the full sight of him, Elphaba’s eyes opened wide to an almost comic degree and her jaw dropped. Involuntarily, she drew up and curled her legs.

Bull tsked incredulously and gave her a side-eye, “Really, you think after all this you’re not going to take it? Witch, your cunt is mine!” and he descended upon her, roughly pulling apart her legs.

Kneeling, he braced her open with his massive thighs, pulled her calves around his waist, and hunched over her torso. The full length of his giant cock lay hard and heavy on her pubic mound. She trembled beneath him.

“Bull, I… I’ve never… taken anything that big…” she stammered in fear. And yet she still held onto the scarf. “Maybe… maybe we can do something else to work up to it, or… _*GASP*_ ”

In one smooth motion, Bull lifted up her waist so her ass rested on top of his thighs, and he pushed the tip of his blunt head into her dripping cunt. She writhed and squirmed at the sudden sensation, but he held it there. When she had calmed somewhat, he pushed just a little bit further. She gave a high-pitched squeak as she stretched to accommodate him, the nerves circling her entrance on fire. Bloody fucking shit, she felt so _good!_

He savoured the image before him, searing it into his memory. At this angle, he had a clear view of his cock forcing Elphaba open beyond what she thought possible. Oh, how he had _dreamt_ of this for so long!

Groaning loudly, he slid his shaft into her yet further, reeling at the spasmic contractions of the muscles that now sheathed him. Elphaba threw her head back and thrashed, hips twisting, abdominals clenching, her arms struggling against their restraints. He sat there until he felt her cunt at last begin to yield, her muscles loosening in acceptance. Her body stilled and she grew quiet, giving into him totally.

Grabbing her hips, he pulled her steadily onto him until the base of his shaft grazed her curls and he arched over her possessively. Elphaba cried out as she took in his full length and gave him a look of such profound adoration he thought he might melt right there. Grinning in triumph he gave her a long slow thrust, and she moaned out load, tears trailing down the corners of her eyes.

“Fuck yes… Fuck me, Bull!” she growled, voice deep. He continued his agonizingly slow pumping, undulating his hips just so the keratinous ridges on his shaft would occasionally graze the head of her clit. Her breasts bobbed deliciously with each of his thrusts.

She couldn’t stop making small noises of both pleasure and pleading. A few times, she tried to get him to go faster by increasing the rhythm of her hips, but he stubbornly kept up his tortuous pace.

“What’s the matter, Elphaba?” he teased, “You asked for slow and hard, so that’s what you’re getting.”

She barely seemed to register his words, swept up as she was in heights of arousal beyond anything she had ever known.

“Look at me, Elphaba!” he raised his voice to break her trance, and immediately she focused on him. “Now, look at you.”

When he saw her glance down, he pulled himself out of her completely, his hot, thick shaft coated in her desire. He teasingly swirled his bulbous head over her clit and then plunged back in, balls deep. A long, low sigh escaped Elphaba as he did so, her eyes staring at the spectacle in disbelief.

“See? Smooth and easy,” he purred. 

Returning eye-contact to him, her lips slowly widened into a dark smile, lashes lidded in an expression so lascivious he was sure the image of her face alone in that moment would be classified as obscene according to some Chantry doctrine.

Bull growled loudly and gave her a quick, hard thrust, making her snarl in excitement. He took a firm hold of her waist and began fucking her in earnest then, slapping her ass against his groin with each thrust. The range of her ecstatic moans and cries at this new pace were the definitive ballad of Elphaba’s truest self, he thought, free and euphoric. A deeper, bestial part of him awoke as he considered the certainty that Blackwall had never and would never hear her like this. 

Amidst her blush-inducing vocalizations, she uttered a broken, “Sweet Maker… like… like fucking a dragon…” and Bull couldn’t hold back any longer. With his thumb, he pressed down hard on her swollen clit, and pulled her onto him in a final, powerful thrust. Elphaba’s long-awaited climax rushed over her brutally, and her back arched so far that her entire upper body was lifted from the floor. Her mouth opened wide in a silent scream that eventually burst out rough and raw as every muscle in her body convulsed. 

The Iron Bull roared as he emptied himself into Elphaba’s cunt, gripping her waist with an animalistic ferocity. The never-ending waves of her orgasm prolonged his own climax, each convulsion tightening her hold on him with a maddening intensity, the depths of her cunt so hot as to be almost uncomfortable. Even as he softened, he was unable to pull out of her until her spasms had subsided to mere twitches.

Elphaba lay before him bathed in sweat, eyes closed, strands of damp hair stuck to her cheeks and forehead, utterly spent. 

Bull retrieved the basin he had placed by the fire, the water in it now steaming. Bringing it to where she lay, he untied the scarves from her wrists and guided her arms down to her sides. He had to pry open the hand that gripped the watch-signal. Even in her current stupor she held onto it so tightly that she flexed her fingers as he bent them back, revealing the length of scarf to be damp with sweat and deeply wrinkled. He soaked one of the hand towels in the warm water and gently dabbed at her face. Her eyes fluttered open lazily.

“You still with me?” he smiled.

She smiled back in return, “Always…”

The echo of his affirmation to her in the Hinterlands made his heart flutter. 

Soaking another towel, he tenderly wiped her limp body down, making sure to be extra gentle between her legs. She was still red and swollen down there. For a moment, he feared he may have actually hurt her, losing control at the finish the way he did, and he cursed himself for his lack of discipline.

“I’m alright,” Elphaba said quietly. She must have caught his expression. “Better than alright… much better…” she drawled.

He crawled up to her face then and bent down to give her a long, slow kiss. In response, she placed little pecks at the corners of his mouth, and the tip of his nose. This action was so unexpectedly sweet, he cupped her cheek in his palm and pressed his forehead to hers.

“So am I good or what?” she whispered, “Better than that serving girl?”

The question was so ridiculous he couldn’t help but laugh. 

Her expression started to turn to one of hurt, so he looked at her reassuringly.

“You really have no idea, do you?” he whispered.

“What?” she asked, confused.

“How impossibly amazing you are in every conceivable way,” he answered, shaking his head in wonderment.

“Oh don’t tease me, Bull,” Elphaba laughed, lightly slapping his chest, but her smile vanished when she saw his expression was genuine. That made her blush and look away from him.

Bull cursed himself again. After what had just happened between them, it was important that she have space to process without his interference.

“I’m glad I could help you relax a bit, boss,” he said, standing up. “With everything you do, it’s only fair you get a proper lay when you can.”

She nodded, but he could see she was quickly drifting off.

He brought over a pillow and quilt from the bed. Cradling her head with his large hand, he placed the pillow under her and then covered her body with the quilt, making sure to tuck it in so as to stop the drafts wafting in from the balconies. 

Then, he washed himself with the remaining water and towels and got dressed. He placed the basin back in the washing alcove, but bundled up the towels and stuffed them in his pocket with the cooling balm. Returning the scarves to his other pocket, he finally stoked the fire to ensure the embers burned through the rest of the night. Elphaba was fast asleep by then, and he gave her one last look before leaving. The shadows cast by the fire made the scar over her eye seem deeper and longer than it actually was, but her face was the most relaxed and content he had ever seen it.

He left her quarters feeling very pleased with himself.

### 

Still heady from the whole experience, Bull was uncharacteristically startled when he noticed Leliana in the shadows of the tower stairs.

The Spymaster approached him and asked nonchalantly, “Is the Inquisitor inside?”

Her face looked innocent, but the question was a clear threat. Of course she knew Elphaba was inside. Where else would the Inquisitor be at this hour? No, Leliana knew exactly what was going on. Yet she chose to reveal herself, wanting to gauge Bull’s response. 

“I have some information that may be…” she continued.

“No,” Bull interrupted her firmly, “Let her rest.”

He confidently strode past her and proceeded down the stairs at a casual pace. Let her make of that what she will. Even so, the feel of her eyes upon his back until he was out of view unnerved him.

When he was a couple of flights down, he heard the Spymaster also begin descending. Bull walked straight through the great hall and down into the courtyard without looking back.


	4. A Question of Binding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Clearing his throat, Bull attempted a proper introduction, “So Cole! You’re a spirit…demon…thing?"  
>  “Yes. And you’re The Iron Bull, afraid of demons.”_
> 
> In contrast to his other bedroom conquests, the Iron Bull finds Inquisitor Trevelyan in even more of his thoughts after their first night together. A confrontation with the strange boy, Cole, forces him to acknowledge the complexity of his growing feelings for her.

_Warm…_

_Wrapped in a quiet darkness…_

_Lustrous waves caress his face…_

_There is a warped glimmer of stars, seen from below the surface of the sea, sinking…_

_Her eyes are like jewels in the depths, her smile beckons, promising…_

_She is all around him, cloaking him, and it is right._

_A hand burns cold on his chest._

Kadan. 

_His heartbeat slows and time becomes viscous. The moments tunnel._

_But then the cloak becomes constricting, his limbs tangled, heavy, sinking further, the darkness growing. The waves smother his mouth, and the eyes become cold, unfamiliar._

_Her face, but not her face. The smile opens in cruel laughter…_

  


“Chief!” A rude finger prodding.

The Iron Bull gave a loud groan and reluctantly opened his eye.

Krem stood over him looking amused. “Well, there really is a first time for everything. Can’t wait to tell the others I finally got the jump on you. Don’t you have assassins on your tail? You certainly picked a great time to stop sleeping with one eye open. Oh, right,” he mocked and comically covered his left eye.

Bull smacked a pillow in Krem’s face with surprising speed. His second-in-command’s mocking expression immediately transformed to one of stunned shock. 

“Way too easy. If that were a mace you’d be dead, Aclassi.” With a grunt he sat up. “As your leader, a sound rest is a well-earned privilege.” 

Bull rubbed his face, still somewhat dazed. There was a hint of her scent on his fingers, so he let them linger over his nose and his lips. He closed his eye briefly, remembering…

“Sound rest my ass,” Krem observed, “Who was it this time? Katrina? Ser Morris? … Maryden?”

As Bull quickly dressed, he replied, “No, no, and I know you’re a Vint asshole, but even I’d never do that to you.”

“Well, whoever it was has you wrapped around their little finger. You were practically purring like a kitten when I found you… Wait, what did you say about Maryden?”

Bull smiled as he left his preferred room in the barracks above the tavern, Krem in tow. “Have you ever even spoken to her? Just because I’m not making a move doesn’t mean someone else won’t,” he cautioned.

Krem’s face reddened. “Agenda for this morning is hand-to-hand combat drills. That still work for you, chief?”

Bull rolled his eye at Krem’s blunt attempt to change the subject. “Your loss if you’re too chicken to take advantage of my expertise, you know.”

“Riiight,” Krem gave an exaggerated nod. “Because your endless string of one-night-stands has taught you so much about romantic relationships.”

“Shut up. You lot are getting extra laps around the ramparts for warm-up, and when the others complain I’ll tell them it’s because you were bested by a pillow.”

### 

“Break!” Bull shouted, “And if Krem catches any of you drinking anything stronger than ale you’re doing crunches until you heave it up!”

The sweaty lads and ladies that comprised the Chargers grumpily shuffled into the tavern to nurse sore muscles, but a few keeners stayed out to do some cool-down stretches.

Bull was about to head up into one of the towers for a bit of meditation when he heard shouts.

“No!” Solas was striding purposefully across the courtyard with that demon boy, what was his name? at his heels.

Inquisitor Trevelyan was not far behind them, making her way down the steps from the great hall. She was back in her black leathers again, and a dark cloak she usually only wore during the evenings. He smiled when he realized both of these choices conveniently covered her neck and chest.

“But you like demons!” argued the boy.

“I enjoy the company of spirits, yes, which is part of why I do not abuse them with bindings.”

The demon boy wanted Solas to bind him? Immediately, Bull thought of the noble Saarebas who willingly subjected themselves to the Arvaarad, and his respect for the strange kid grew.

“It isn’t abuse if I ask!” the boy protested.

Solas stopped and looked at the boy with pity. “Not always true. Also, I do not practise blood magic, which renders this entire conversation academic.”

In desperation, the boy turned to the Inquisitor, “He won’t bind me. He’s a mage, and he likes demons, but he won’t help!”

“Cole, why would you want Solas to bind you?”

Cole! Yes, that was his name. Only Elphaba and Solas ever seemed to recall it.

“So I’m safe!” he cried. “If Solas won’t do the ritual to bind me, someone else could. Will! Like the Warden mages! And then… I’m not me anymore. Walls around what I want, blocking, bleeding, making me a monster…”

The boy was so afraid of being manipulated to madness and becoming a liability to them all. In spite of himself, Bull’s heart reached out to the terror in Cole’s voice. 

Elphaba put a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “But a mage using blood magic could conceivably do that to any one of us, human or demon.”

“Then you should ask Solas to bind you too! And then someone can bind him…”

He almost laughed aloud at the idea of Solas binding Elphaba. No, that was a pleasure she would give to The Iron Bull alone. 

“We’ll find a way to keep you safe without binding you, Cole.” Elphaba looked into the boy’s eyes and her sincerity seemed to comfort him. 

“I have a suggestion,” Solas offered, “if Cole is ready to listen.”

Elphaba and Cole both looked at him questioningly; she with curiosity, he with desperate hope. 

Solas elaborated, “I recall stories of amulets used by Rivaini seers to protect spirits they summoned from rival mages. A spirit wearing an Amulet of the Unbound was immune to blood magic and binding. It should protect Cole as well. The resources of the Inquisition could be used to find such a talisman.”

“Good,” Cole nodded. “They will not take me,” and he strode off, no doubt to commence his usual lurking.

“I’ll speak to Josephine about this,” Elphaba continued with Solas, “but I’m not certain I like the idea of this amulet. Isn’t it just another form of binding? We’re supposed to be encouraging his independence, aren’t we?”

“I agree,” Solas approved. “If you believe your Circle mages deserve freedom, then so do spirits such as he. Their nature is fragile, and binding is more likely to corrupt than to protect. I’ve seen it countless times.”

“Now hold on, boss,” Bull approached them. “I think the kid has a point.”

Solas scowled at him. “And what would a qunari know of such matters? You who bind and torture your mages to the point their trauma inevitably invites the worst denizens of the Fade!”

Before Solas could continue, Elphaba raised a hand, and the elf silenced himself at the signal.

“I don’t want to ‘torture’ the boy,” Bull scowled back at the elf, “but you have to admit that his fears are valid, and worth respecting.”

“You think he isn’t safe with us?” Elphaba asked.

“With us, yes, but not with the people we’re up against; Corypheus, Venatori, red Templars, and all the like. And it seems to me his fear just makes him more vulnerable,” Bull explained.

“No,” Solas protested. “If he is to fully realize his nature as a spirit of compassion he cannot be stifled.”

“Come on, boss,” Bull growled in annoyance, “You can’t be this naive.” 

Elphaba’s eyes widened and her lips narrowed. He had nearly crossed a line into inappropriate familiarity. 

“Either Cole is an individual capable of mastering himself against corruption, or he’s a spirit with no will of his own,” argued Bull. “You can’t have it both ways, elf! And either way, he needs protection!”

“Your dichotomy is a false one,” Solas replied smugly, “Spirits are pure of nature, embodying one facet of emotional experience as their identity. That does not preclude a measure of individuality. Every time you experience compassion, insight, or desire, is it not unique? Made tangible by the specific context of your life in that moment? But of course, what would a qunari know of individuality!”

“Solas, enough with the accusations,” Elphaba interjected firmly. “You know very well that the Iron Bull isn’t with the Qun anymore.”

“As far as we know,” Solas countered darkly.

Elphaba closed her eyes in agitation. “You know I value your counsel, Solas,” she sighed, “but I value the Iron Bull’s as well, and I’m growing tired of your prejudices. Either put them aside so we may continue, or please leave and I will decide how to proceed on my own.”

Surprisingly, the elf seemed chastised and grew quiet.

Bull took the opportunity to reiterate, “Look, if Cole’s nature is as rigidly defined as Solas would have us believe, then he wouldn’t be afraid like he is. Just saying.”

Elphaba considered Bull’s logic, “Solas, would you agree that Cole’s situation is somewhat unique? Perhaps we shouldn’t be considering our options the same way we would with any other spirit.”

The elf furrowed his brows, his reluctance to acknowledge anything Bull had to say at war with his respect for Elphaba. Finally he conceded, “Cole’s range of emotions is indeed unusual. It’s possible an Amulet may provide him a measure of comfort that would do more to protect his nature for the time being than the talisman’s magic itself.”

Elphaba nodded, “Give him space to feel safe while we help him to grow; for all of us to learn what his nature truly is.”

“In time, he’ll no longer need the security of the Amulet,” Solas asserted. “For him to properly reconnect with his identity, he must be unfettered.”

“We’ll see…” Bull growled.

“But for now we are in agreement,” Elphaba finished, “If there’s nothing else you wish to discuss, Solas, please send for Josephine. I have a meeting with Cassandra in the upper armoury now, so she can find me there.”

Solas nodded, “As you wish, my friend,” and he made his way up the steps to the great hall. 

Once they were alone, Elphaba rounded on Bull, “Don’t question my competence in public again. Just because we…” She steeled her jaw and inhaled sharply, unable to complete the sentence. 

“I was out of line,” Bull conceded, “It won’t happen again, boss. Just do me a favour and keep a watch on that demon kid. He’s a time-bomb we really can’t afford right now.”

Elphaba met his gaze and her eyes bored into him. She had this way of looking at you sometimes, like she could see beyond the chaos of your thoughts to the deep patterns behind them.

“Talk to him.” Not an order, but imperative nonetheless.

“What, to the demon kid?”

“To Cole. Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why not? The qunari have a whole training exercise involving the use of physical pain to master fear. Compared to that, just talking to him shouldn’t be so difficult, right?” She tilted her head and the corner of her mouth rose in a half-smile. Such a small shift that changed her face so much. “Or are you afraid of compassion?”

Her smile lingered as she turned and walked towards the armoury. 

Well, her head was certainly cooler than was typical for a confrontational situation like that. _This is what you wanted to give her, Bull, isn’t it?_ Except now she was relaxed enough to catch when he was masking his own anxieties. And to talk hair-raising shop with the likes of Solas. Bull shuddered. Dorian was the Vint, but even he seemed to have more sense than that weird elf. The elf who was not Dalish or alienage, and that neither Leliana nor Bull’s Ben-Hassrath overseers had been able to find anything about. It disturbed Bull how readily she seemed to trust him.

His thoughts were interrupted by Grand Enchanter Fiona, who gave him a wave and a nod as she walked past. Bull nodded in return. 

Sometimes he wondered if Elphaba truly understood how important she was. Inquisitor Elphaba. Was it any wonder that so many, including himself, found her choice to surround herself with unchecked mages reckless? That she immersed herself so enthusiastically in study of the arcane? 

Skyhold was practically a demon magnet, and he was frankly surprised there hadn’t been an incident of possession or abomination already. Didn’t she realize even her own vulnerability? A possessed Inquisitor would likely mean the literal end of the world… That was a fact, but when Bull pictured her face, cool, confident, and steeled, he had a difficult time imagining such a thing. It was as Sera said. She was their frosty bitch who ate demons for breakfast. Then why did he still fear for her?

She would ask him later about approaching Cole. He couldn’t fake an encounter with the strange boy if he tried. Bull envisioned what Elphaba’s expression would be if he had to admit he failed her challenge. Smug and disappointed at the same time. He’d never be able to one-up her in bed again, maybe even get into her bed again.

“Aaarrgh, fine!” he growled to himself and began his search.

### 

“You alright there, big buddy?” Scout Harding sat on a bench outside the tavern. She was fletching a new batch of arrows for her quiver with hypnotizing rapidity.

“Creepy demon kid, you seen him around?” Bull asked.

Harding paused her work. “Who?”

“Hat you can’t miss, pallor of a bogfisher,” Bull described, hoping to jog her memory. 

Harding looked off into nowhere with a confused, concentrated expression. 

“Goes by the name of Cole,” Bull added.

Slow realization and then, “Cole! The quiet boy! Yeah, he scampered up the ramparts just a few minutes ago. Think he went into the Herald’s Rest from above. Likes to hang around people, you know? I feel like he wants the company, but doesn’t really believe he’s worth anyone’s notice. Poor thing…”

“Uh… thanks,” Bull finished awkwardly and entered the tavern.

“Chief!” Krem was nursing an ale in his usual corner. “You ready to get our people back out? Dalish over there is still babbling about the Inquisitor and the dragon. We don’t stop her, she’ll spill something she can’t unsay,” he laughed.

“At least she admits her crushes, unlike you. Take them back to the sparring ring for blades. I have some tasks of my own for this afternoon.”

“As the chief commands,” Krem smiled, “Alright sods, break’s over!”

With the Chargers gone the tavern was rather quiet, a lull between luncheon and evening. Bull went up the stairs, purposefully holding the idea of Cole, the memory of him, in the front of his awareness.

Bull had just stepped onto the top floor when a voice from the shadows spooked him.

“You only want her more when she makes you scared. Fear without danger, a chance for oblivion in her arms. But also fear with danger, a chance for mastery in her submission. If you like her because she frightens you, why don’t you like me?”

_Well, this is fine._

The boy shuffled about in a corner, eyeing him intently. 

Clearing his throat, Bull attempted a proper introduction, “So Cole! You’re a spirit…demon…thing?”

“Yes. And you’re The Iron Bull, afraid of demons.”

His odd, unblinking eyes were alert yet somehow also glazed over, like he was perpetually dreaming with them wide open. They glistened, fish-like through too-long wisps of straw hair, shadowed by that ridiculous hat. 

Bull shuddered. “I’m not fond of ‘em, no. But you and I are fine as long as you don’t do any weird crap. Me and the Inquisitor? That’s between us and not for you.” Bull stared down the boy. That usually cowed people into looking away. 

Unfortunately, Cole seemed to find the direct eye contact encouraging. “Lying awake, sheets soaked in sweat, afraid to call the tamassrans. Shadows make shapes in the dark. If it gets in my head, how do I cut it out? Itching, shaking, tears slide cold down my cheeks. ‘Tama, I'm scared.’”

“Yeah, weird crap like that? Pretty much what I meant.”

“The others, they want the pain gone, the fear gone. But not you.”

“Alright, let’s try this again another time,” Bull began to slowly step backwards away from the boy.

“She’s the same you know.” 

Bull stopped. 

“She wants you to bind her fear, keep it close, but you’re not a mage. If you find out how to bind her, please bind me too.”

Bull turned around and went back down the stairs. 

_Nope, nope, nope. I talked to him, I can tell her I talked to him._

Hitting things. That’s what he needed to do.

Willing his confidence back, he bee-lined for the training dummies Cassandra usually practised with. He began to punch the stuffing out of the nearest one with gusto. The Iron Bull’s thoughts quieted, the familiar activity returning him to calmness. 

It was only then that he started to parse the conversation coming from the open window just above him.

“Couldn’t _you_ bind him?” That was Cassandra, a stubborn insistence in her tone.

“As keen as you are to presume otherwise,” And that was Elphaba’s sultry voice, drawling in annoyance, “I am no more a blood mage than Solas is.”

“But you have studied it… in theory, have you not? Surely a single exception…”

“Seeker!” An Antivan accent. “It is well our dear Commander is not here to listen to you utter such things! All unnecessary I might add. I can send word today to have one of these protective amulets sent to us.” Josephine. She always had an ear for de-escalation, that one. 

“And if we are refused? Should we not take all the precautions we can? Better to just send him away!”

“And here I thought we were trying to make him _less_ vulnerable, not moreso,” another voice, low and gruff. Blackwall was with them.

“Stay out of this, Rainier. To think we would heed your advice after… after everything you’ve done!” Ouch. Of everyone, Cassandra seemed to have taken Blackwall’s deceptions hardest.

“Cassandra, he’s right,” Elphaba interrupted. “For now, Cole is safest with us.”

“And after all this time, do you really have so little faith in me?” Josephine teased. “I’m certain we will not be refused. The seers are widely persecuted outside Rivain. They will appreciate our recognition of their expertise in this matter.”

“Very good,” Elphaba finalized.

“And I apologize for my tone, Ambassador,” Cassandra offered, “I did not mean to imply any doubt in your abilities.”

“No offense taken, Seeker,” Josephine replied graciously. “Inquisitor, I shall draft a letter immediately and have Leliana herself send a raven before sundown.”

“Now, Blackwall,” Elphaba continued, “I sent for you because Cullen brought some troubling news to my attention this morning…”

“Oh yes! On top of everything else, we must now clean up the chaos you’ve left in the wake of your lies!”

“Do not interrupt me, Cassandra!”

The hinges of the armoury door creaked and whined as the Ambassador exited. Bull’s eye twitched in irritation as her noisome skirts swished and rustled while she walked away.

“…and unfortunately, our use of the Treaties has left quite a few of our allies bristling. Josephine has suggested reparations, but I want to hear your thoughts as well.”

“Inquisitor! You’re asking _him_?”

“Yes.” Elphaba was growing quieter and more contrite. “You wish to atone, Blackwall. This is a small chance to take some responsibility for your actions.” Blunt. To-the-point. Her patience was wearing thin.

There was an uncomfortable silence before Blackwall finally spoke. “To be frank, I think it’s bullshit.”

Cassandra gasped, but was immediately cut off by a loud hiss. Air being drawn tightly through clenched teeth. Bull stopped punching the dummy and simply leaned against the wall. His enjoyment of the moment was dampened only by the thought that Cole was right. Elphaba’s anger, her power, aroused him. 

“The Wardens are our allies now also,” Blackwall continued, “and far worthier than these masked hypocrites who do nothing but play games with their wealth from the comfort of their mansions. I am sorry for the conundrum I’ve landed you in, but we don’t owe them a bloody thing.”

“Need I remind you,” Cassandra seethed, “that it was the Wardens who became so easily swayed by Corypheus, who drew our good men into a needless battle, a battle we could not have won without the aid of the Orlesian houses backing our cause?”

“Cassandra!” Elphaba uncharacteristically raised her voice. “You and Cullen advised me as Blackwall just has only earlier today! Was it not you who emphasized that dealing with Corypheus was our priority? I believe you had some rather rude words for our noble complainants as well…”

“I have reconsidered my position!” she countered.

“No. The matter is settled,” Elphaba stated. “I’ll have Cullen sternly remind the affected parties that the fate of the world is threatened, from a darkspawn magister no less, and that their aid has already helped to stem back the tide. With the Wardens as our allies, the Treaties apply now even moreso than before.”

“I see you continue to have influence above your station, Rainier,” stewed Cassandra. “What a shame the Inquisitor kept you around. I would not have were it up to me.”

Blackwall’s tone was resigned, “Such spite is beneath you Cassandra.”

“Is it? What do you know of me? Even less than we know of you.”

“I…wasn’t…”

“You have no right to determine what is beneath me! Not now, not ever!”

“That’s enough, Cassandra!” Elphaba interjected yet again, her patience gone. “You are dismissed. I’ll see you at the war table before dinner.”

“As you wish, Inquisitor. I was going to pursue it no further. But perhaps you should consider that your… feelings may be clouding your judgement.”

Bull winced and palmed his face in vicarious embarrassment. There was a long silence.

Finally, barely audible, “I _said_ I will speak with you later.”

Bull quickly resumed hitting the training dummy as Cassandra burst through the armoury door, fuming as she strode towards the stairs to the ramparts. 

“You don’t have to protect me from her, you know.” Blackwall again.

Another long silence, and then, “No, but as you so… tactfully pointed out, I expect better of her. And I won’t hold my tongue when she disrespects my authority just to ‘protect’ your sensibilities. Was there anything else you wished to discuss with me?”

“…No, My Lady. I will take my leave if I may.”

“You may.”

The armoury door swung outward yet again, though more gently this time. Blackwall trudged with heavy steps, shoulders slumped, but stopped when he eyed Bull with the dummy. 

“You’ve got the right idea there,” he grumbled before wandering back towards the stables dejectedly.

“Cut it out.”

Bull looked up, startled. Elphaba was looking down at him from the window, her expression stern.

“What, boss? Hitting this thing?”

“You know better than to play the idiot with me. There’s no Ben-Hassrath you can report to anymore, so I don’t know why you bother.”

“What can I say? I like watching you whip people into shape. Especially when those people aren’t me.”

Her expression softened and she shook her head. “Especially when those people are Blackwall, you mean.”

Bull shrugged disarmingly.

“Maker, what have I gotten myself into,” she muttered while leaving the window.

In the short space of time before she exited the armoury, Bull’s mind had no trouble envisioning an impressive variety of things he wished to get her into. 

“Most influential organization in Thedas, they said. Last hope for the world, they said,” she approached him still muttering. “Herald of Andraste my foot. Here I am, nothing more than a glorified wet-nurse.”

She still hadn’t said a word about their night together, and despite the ideological clashes, Bull couldn’t help but take pride in the fact she continued venting to him.

“Not fair, huh? When you’re the boss, there’s no one left to give you any coddling... or discipline.” As he spoke he took a few steps towards her, and she involuntarily backed up against the wall.

Elphaba grimaced indignantly, “Just as well, isn’t it? I’m not the one who needs it!” and her nose wrinkled in disgust at the very idea.

Bull took a couple more steps, and the distance between them closed as she ran out of space to back away. He cocked his head and looked down at her in feigned disapproval.

She smirked, “What? Afraid a pride demon’s going to come calling for me?”

Bull reached behind her and cupped her ass, lightly brushing with his fingers. The contact lasted no more than a second, but Elphaba twitched and gasped in fury.

“Not with what you’re thinking about every time you sit down, I bet.” He raised his brows and gave her a smug grin.

Elphaba’s face darkened. “Quiet!” she hissed. “And keep your hands to yourself, we’re out in the open for Maker’s sake!” 

“Don’t give me ideas, boss. I could give them quite an eyeful of you,” he growled, barely above a whisper. He leaned in closer. “I'm sure there are more than a few who’d like a chance to see…” his eye roved over her body, lingering on every curve, “… all that.”

Elphaba’s pulse quickened and her eyes grew wide. She pushed a trembling hand into his chest defensively. “Don’t,” she choked out. 

He was close enough to smell her magic, to feel the heat in her cheeks. “Is that an order?”

“If that’s what it takes,” her voice was hoarse and breathy, “...then yes.”

For a few moments Bull didn’t move and he felt the skin where she touched him begin to chill.

Finally, he backed away, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “You’re the boss, …boss.”

His compliance clearly surprised her, and try as she might, she couldn’t hide the trace of disappointment that Bull read in her eyes. He turned towards the tavern, still grinning, leaving her flustered against the wall.

So, she was embarrassed by what had happened between them. No, not by what had happened, by how she felt about it. Not at all unexpected. She just needed more time to admit some things to herself, and then she would come to him. He could be patient. Gods knew he already had been.

The Iron Bull touched the cold spot in the centre of his chest. 

He thought again of the look on Elphaba's face when she was cornered, every fibre in that tight body begging him to claim her in all but words. It was tortuous for the both of them to deny her, really. Ah, but that was the whole point! The Iron Bull breathed deeply, smiling in satisfaction.


	5. The Gallant Seneschal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She had stood between them and Hissrad. Would the Iron Bull have done the same?  
>  “Yes. You are who you choose to follow. And you chose her.”_
> 
> The Iron Bull is stymied in his efforts to get to know Inquisitor Trevelyan better thanks to a recent addition to Skyhold’s staff. As a result, Bull finds himself in an interesting chat with Blackwall (A.k.a. Thom Rainier. A.k.a. Trevelyan’s ex-lover).

_Parshaara!_ Enough with patience! After finally getting the chance to lie with Inquisitor Trevelyan, the Iron Bull thought his desires would be sated, at least for a time. Instead, it seemed his burning for her only grew more intense. Memories and impressions lingered stubbornly; the flutter of her whispers on his ear, the cool saltiness of her skin on his tongue, her normally stern form soft and yielding beneath him. Such thoughts intruded through evening drills in the rain, banishing the biting cold and the squelching mud inside his boots. They intruded through supper, stoppered his appetite, and stuttered his nightly meditation. He dreamt again of the sea, being tossed and tumbled helplessly by stormy waves, her cold eyes always below. Was it because she was a mage? He had never been with a mage before. Perhaps the proximity to her magic was somehow affecting him.

Whatever the case may have been, Bull felt compelled to be in her company the following morning. For exactly what reason, even he was not certain. To tease her further and gauge her reactions perhaps, or maybe just to hear her voice. He missed the easy conversations that came and went organically in the field. The more mundane the activity, the better. Together they’d be pitching a tent and she’d start rambling off about an interesting ruin they had come across earlier. Or maybe they’d be butchering a doe and she would wonder aloud about the finer details of blight infection. It didn’t matter what the subject was. Even the most controversial or unsettling topics became palatable through her special brand of unburdened and detached curiosity. Sadly, such instances of casual intimacy with Elphaba were all too rare at Skyhold.

Entering the great hall, Bull noted the usual cacophony of breakfast activity along the dining tables, but the Inquisitor was nowhere to be seen. He gave Varric a friendly wave as he passed the dwarf’s preferred table by the hearth, then wove through some of the kitchen staff towards the door to Josie’s office. He had spied the Ambassador at one of the tables with an Orlesian entourage, so the office was empty except for a short, bald man standing at the door that led to the war room. 

As Bull approached the door, the man gave him a bemused appraisal through a set of blocky dwarven spectacles. His rather plain shirt and tunic were starch-pressed and contrasted oddly with the Orlesian-style ruff at his neck.

“Inquisitor in the war room?” Bull asked as he reached for the door’s handle.

The man took a small, graceful step to the right, shielding the door handle with his body. “I’m sorry, serah. Her Worship is in an extended meeting with Commander Rutherford and Seeker Pentaghast. They are not to be disturbed.”

“Well, tell the Inquisitor I need to see her after the meeting then.”

“It is unlikely, serah, that the meeting will conclude before luncheon. If your needs are urgent, I will inform Her Worship and for certain she will do her best to accommodate you amidst her many other duties and appointments. May I enquire as to the nature of your business?”

“Just… never mind. I’ll come back later.”

“Very good, serah.”

Bull rolled his eye as he left Josephine’s office. He had seen the man plenty of times, usually tailing either Josephine or Elphaba in the great hall, and ordering other servants about. He began to walk back the way he had come, intending to share a few bites with the Chargers at the tavern, but instead caught Dorian’s eye at one of the long tables. A large tome lay open on the table in front of him. Dorian, however, seemed to merely be using the book as a prop, glancing at the pages disaffectedly between bouts of people-watching and eavesdropping on nearby conversations.

“Mind if I join you?” Bull grunted, taking a seat opposite the mage. 

“Not at all,” Dorian smiled. “My, you’re looking uncharacteristically dour this morning. Is everything alright?”

Bull furrowed his brows and rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, considering his next words carefully. “So, you’re a mage…”

“Is that so?” Dorian stared at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. He snapped his fingers, and looked on in shock as twin flames ignited. “Why you’re right! Maker be praised, I had no idea!”

Bull sighed, “Look, this is going to sound really weird, but I’m hoping you can settle a question for me.”

“A mage-related question I take it?” Dorian extinguished the fires in his hands with a smoky flourish.

Bull nodded, “When a non-magical person has sex with a mage… does it, like, have any effects?”

Dorian’s expression shifted from plain intrigue to amused incredulity. “Are you asking me if magic is contagious, like some sort of venereal disease? What, did you sleep with one of the mages and now you’re inexplicably calling lighting down from the sky?” he joked. “I knew the Qun’s understanding of magic was utterly backwards, but is _this_ what they taught you?”

“If you’re done being an ass,” Bull growled, “No, of course I know magic isn’t contagious! But could being with a mage make you, I don’t know, more energized? More aroused? Can the magic maybe rub off on you temporarily or something, like taking lyrium?”

Canting his head, Dorian gave the question a few moments thought. “Not that I’m aware of, no. I imagine if such a thing were true we’d be a far more popular commodity, if you catch my meaning. And I don’t recall any mage, or templar for that matter, finding the effects of lyrium to be at all aphrodisiacal.” At Bull’s stumped expression, Dorian continued amicably, “There are, of course, ways that magic can be used for sexual pleasure, but I highly doubt any of the southern mages here would be familiar with such practices…” 

Bull’s thoughts were smartly interrupted by this new bit of information. “What kinds of ways?”

At that, Dorian scrutinized Bull in a manner he decidedly did not care for. “No, you’re definitely far too distracted to be hitting on me. But a mage has caught your eye, haven’t they. And…” Dorian gave an infuriatingly smug grin as the realization dawned. “You’ve never lain with a mage before!”

Bull groaned and rolled his eye.

“Oh, of course you haven’t! Your Qun has made you terrified of us, and yet here you are attracted to a filthy ‘saarebas’ all the same! When we’re not bound up in collars and chains, and our mouths aren’t sewn shut, we’re quite appealing, eh?”

Bull chuckled, “I don’t know. Collars and chains can be pretty appealing on the right sort of person, mage or not.”

“So I’ve heard,” agreed Dorian, “but it sounds to me that whatever’s troubling you is merely a symptom of the novelty you’re feeling. Rest assured, your lover’s magic isn’t bewitching you.” Quietly he added, “We’re just people like everyone else, you know.”

 _Not quite like everyone else, obviously_ , Bull thought, but he didn’t feel like arguing. Instead, he stood up. “Thanks, Vint, it was good talking with you.”

“My pleasure,” Dorian replied, but then appended with unnecessary volume, “But you know, of course, that I now expect regular updates on your new magical sex life!”

Despite the seed of gossip he had almost certainly just sewn by speaking with the mage, the Iron Bull’s inner turmoil stilled somewhat after the conversation. Perhaps Dorian was right. Elphaba being a mage was a new thing for him, and it had certainly been awhile since he’d experienced any novelty in bed. That his thoughts kept drifting to her like he was a young boy on the cusp of manhood again made a kind of sense in that regard. 

Nevertheless, his Chargers could still tell something was up. His mind kept wandering as he led them through a series of defensive Taarkaaras. The qunari martial arts form was perhaps an unconventional style for a mercenary group, but the resulting discipline had certainly contributed to their excellent reputation. 

“You feeling alright, chief?” Krem asked as they wrapped up the exercise. “Your focus seems off.” He looked up at Bull with genuine concern on his face.

“Just working through some personal shit, Krem. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Krem nodded, “We’ve all got demons, right? And I know what you did for us has made things rough on your end. Listen, if you need some time, I can look after this lot.”

“Trying to get me out of the way so you can slack off?” Bull teased. Even so, he put a hand on his second-in-command’s shoulder and gave a light squeeze in appreciation. “I’ll meet up with you again later. Got a meeting with the Inquisitor.”

### 

Speaking of demons… 

“I’m sorry, serah. Her Worship is attending a private luncheon with Ambassador Montilyet and the Comtesse Lutetia. They are not to be disturbed.”

Bull found himself face-to-face with the bald servant again, this time at the door to Josie’s office.“Well, tell the Inquisitor I’d like to see her after her meal then.”

“May I enquire as to the nature of your urgent business, serah?”

“No, you may not.”

“In that case, I would be remiss in my duties to trouble Her Worship with what may be an unnecessary trifle…”

“It is not a trifle!” Bull interrupted indignantly, though it forced him to wonder at his compulsion again. 

“Certainly not, serah. I’m sure your business is very important to you. Her Worship, however, has responsibilities that encompass the whole of Thedas. One of my many humble tasks is to ensure, to the best of my abilities, that her precious time is efficiently prioritized.”

“Do you even know who I am?” he growled. The man’s dismissive air, regardless of Bull’s true motivations, was getting to be beyond insulting.

“You are The Iron Bull, serah, leader of the mercenary band known as the Chargers.”

“That’s right. I take it that means you know of my reputation?” Bull leered threateningly.

“I’m sorry, serah, but I pride myself on being immune to bribery. In any case, to put it gently, your… assets are not to my taste.”

Bull broke his glare, confused. “What… Oh for fuck’s sake! Just never mind.”

“Very good, serah.”

### 

Bull ran a few laps around the ramparts. How long could lunching with some silly noble take? 

On his fifth circuit, he noticed Josephine and an eccentrically dressed woman (presumably the comtesse) walking in the gardens as he jogged along the above wall.

Returning to the great hall once again, his face fell at the sight of the bald servant standing near the throne. As Bull approached, and before he could even say anything, the man started, “I’m sorry, serah. Her Worship is currently working in the Undercroft. She is…”

“…not to be disturbed. I get it.” Bull turned on his heel and stomped back out into the courtyard.

“Very good, serah.”

 _A drink is what I need_ , he thought, and so he headed to the tavern.

Grabbing a full pitcher of ale from the bartender, Bull had already downed half of it by the time he found a quiet table on the second floor that was ideal for some quality brooding. He amused himself by picking up pieces of the conversations around him. It pleased him to discover that there was still gossip making the rounds about the dragon battle and the Inquisitor’s appearance at the party. In the latter case, though, much emphasis was placed on Elphaba’s tipsy antics with Dorian and the fact they had left the party together. Bull scowled. An argument then broke out as to who was more deserving of her affections, Dorian or Blackwall. Bull scowled harder and was reconsidering his decision to spend time at the tavern when he heard the familiar, gravelly voice of the faux-Warden himself. 

“Why are you here? Do you even understand what's happening in the world?” 

Bull twisted in his seat to see Blackwall standing at the railings with the demon boy. Cole. He remembered this time! What did that mean?

“I heal the helpless. Give hope where there is hurt,” Cole answered.

“But you've killed before,” contested Blackwall.

“Yes,” Cole admitted, “Before I knew what I was.”

“So why should we believe you can help now?”

Bull turned back to his drink and smirked at the transparency of Blackwall’s questions. Still, he couldn’t help but empathize with the man’s crisis of identity. 

Evidently, Cole felt the same way. “It hurts too much. I can't be me, have to be someone who never killed. Help enough, and I'm different. I'm not me. Believe it to become it.”

“Maker's balls,” cursed Blackwall. 

“We can change, if we want it enough,” the boy reassured. “I'm sorry you have to stay. It wouldn't work for them. You were trying to fix it. It isn't your fault.”

 _Well, that’s debatable_ , Bull thought. Almost on cue, Maryden began to strum out the tune to Oh, Grey Warden below.

“What isn't my fault?” asked Blackwall.

“They wanted Blackwall, not Rainier,” Cole explained. “That's why the others are angry.”

“Angry? Really?” Blackwall exclaimed sarcastically. “I thought I was just imagining all the frowning faces. Care to tear into me as well, now that you know?”

“No,” answered Cole.

Blackwall paused. “You, who heal the helpless... you're not angry about what I was hiding?”

“You never hid from me.” Cole then began to speak in that creepy, trance-like tone Bull had become familiar with yesterday. “ _‘Mockingbird, mockingbird.’_ Too many voices in the carriage. Maker, they're young. If I tell my men to stop, they'll know it was all a lie. Cold, trapped, heart hammering like axes on a carriage door.”

Bull shivered vicariously.

“Stop. Please,” interrupted Blackwall. “If you knew what I am, what I'd done, why didn't you tell the others?”

“Everyone hides dead things. Everyone pretends. You wanted to fix it.”

_Hissrad. Keeper of illusions. Liar._

“I'm a murderer.”

“You don't want to be. You made a new you. You are Blackwall. You killed Rainier.”

 _If only it were that easy_ , the Iron Bull thought.

“If only that were possible,” Blackwall said aloud.

“You would stand between Rainier and the carriage. But you can't. It doesn't work like that. So you carry the bodies to remember.”

“I suppose I do.”

_She had stood between them and Hissrad. Would the Iron Bull have done the same?_

“Yes. You are who you choose to follow. And you chose her.”

Bull quietly choked on his ale and turned back to look at the two of them.

Blackwall nodded, reminiscing, “You’re right. I never knew what that actually meant until coming here, and I told her as much. I suppose I still don’t really believe I’m capable of being good on my own.”

_Without the Qun to live by. The Iron Bull was just a role. Now it’s my life, as one of those… I killed hundreds of them. Bandits, murderers, selfish bastards with no self-control. And now I’m one of them._

“Bullshit!” shouted the boy. “You’re a good man.” It was Cole’s voice, but it was Elphaba Bull heard, the memory clear as day.

Blackwall looked taken aback. “I… thank you, Cole. You’re in my head, I suppose you’d know.”

“She’s in your head. She knows. Salt-spray smell of Seheron. Lost in smoke from a burning ship. Guilt at not feeling guiltier.”

“Wait… what?” Blackwall stared at Cole confusedly. Taking a closer look under the hat and through the layer of wispy hair, he finally noticed the direction of Cole’s gaze and turned to face the Iron Bull. “So… before that Seheron bit, were you talking about him or me?”

“Yes.” Cole stated.

Bull finally spoke. “He’s in both our heads at the same time. Now that just hurts me right here, kid,” and he placed a hand over his heart. “I thought what we had was special.”

“You can do that?” Blackwall looked at Cole in amazement.

“Oh dear,” Cole said nervously, “Have I done something wrong? Varric says I should ask before doing it, but how can I ask when I don’t even know I’m doing it? Do you ask before breathing?”

“It’s possible to control your breathing, yes,” Bull affirmed, teeth gritted.

“Don’t worry about it, Cole,” Blackwall put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re trying, and you’re practicing. Believe it to become it, right?”

Cole smiled. “Yes. Spirits can learn. He can help me.” The boy then walked down the stairs and out of the tavern with what appeared to be newfound purpose, as if there was someone he urgently needed to see. Varric or Solas probably. Bull hoped it was the former.

Blackwall shook his head and walked over to Bull’s table. “Mind if I join you?”

“Have a seat,” Bull invited and then waved to catch the attention of a passing serving boy. “Another pitcher and two mugs, would you?”

Before the lad could run off, Blackwall added, “Could you get the bartender to make one of those frosty witch things as well?” As the boy went down to get their drinks he continued, “I've been too hard on Cole. He's odd enough and confounding, but there may be some good in him after all. The least I can do is support him while he sorts himself out.”

“Supporting lost boys while they sort themselves out,” echoed Bull. “Glorified wet-nurse, haha!”

“What was that?” Blackwall looked at him confusedly.

“What I mean is,” Bull clarified, “A certain someone does a whole lot of supporting around here without asking for much in return. Except for maybe a nice conversation on one of the few nights she’s allowed to be human for a change.”

The serving boy returned with their drinks. Blackwall gazed into his cup for a few moments before taking a sip and smiling sadly.

“You’re talking about my abysmal behaviour at the dragon party,” he guessed. “I apologized to her, you know. I’d made an ass of myself again yesterday. Cassandra, she… she knows how to push my buttons, but that was no excuse. My Lady was disappointed in me, but she came to see me anyways. Cassandra and I had put her in a terrible mood, but something must have cheered her up I suppose.”

“I’ll bet,” Bull muttered under his breath. “You’re welcome.”

“What? You alright? How much have you had to drink exactly?”

“I’m fine,” growled Bull. “My head’s all mixed up from Cole still, just go on and don’t mind me.”

Blackwall looked at him concernedly for a few moments, before continuing, “Right, anyways, she found me at the stables. Said she just wanted to see how I was feeling. I told her how sorry I was for behaving like I did at that meeting, and for being so rude to her when she arrived at the party. I felt like such an idiot, but then the way she smiled at me… There’s this thing she does, you know, where she really makes you feel like you can be a better man. And for a few minutes, before she had to go again and keep holding the world together, it was like all this shit with me had never happened. We talked about the Warden treaties, about the real Constable Blackwall, and about the Calling, just like old times. She was about to leave, but then she turned and said she was glad I wasn’t a real Warden. Because now the Calling wouldn’t be taking me someday.”

Blackwall finished his drink, closing his eyes as the chill travelled down his throat. “Have you tried this?” he asked. “Sera named it after her, you know?”

Bull laughed aloud at the memory. “Ha! Yes, I’ve tried it, but it’s not really my thing.”

Blackwall grinned. “I suppose not. I remember that stuff you had with you. Bloody awful it smelled. What was it anyways? Something the qunari brewed out of dragon jizz?”

“Why does everyone think it comes from dragons?” Bull wondered aloud.

“Dunno, because it smells like wyvern ass and the fumes alone burn your face off?” Blackwall laughed.

“I’ll have you know,” Bull stated indignantly, “that Elphaba drank a whole mug of my qunari dragon jizz, and said that she liked it. And I don’t even want to know how you know what wyvern ass smells like.”

“You’re shitting me,” accused Blackwall.

“Ask Varric or Dorian. They saw the whole thing. Why do you think she could barely walk at the end of the night?”

“Those two are worse than you are for tall tales. But you’re being serious, aren’t you?” Blackwall looked at him in disbelief.

Bull shrugged. “That’s what you miss when you’re an asshole.”

“Lesson learned,” Blackwall agreed. “All this time, I’ve been ashamed for not being what she thought I was… I never realized she’d see this as somehow a blessing in disguise.”

“Here’s a story,” Bull offered. “When I’d just left the Qun, after that mess on the Storm Coast, Cullen said something to me. Back when he was a templar, he’d seen some shit at the Circles of Magi that fucked him up. Said that for years anger had blinded him; that he wasn’t proud of the things he’d done, or the man he used to be. But it led him here, and he could make that mean something.”

“Really? He said that?” Blackwall asked.

“I know, right?” Bull smiled. “Not exactly the sort of man you’d expect that kind of insight from. But if not Cullen, then take it from the Iron Bull. All the shit that’s happened to me with the Qun and becoming Tal-Vashoth, it’s also led me here. And this is where I want to be.”

“I’m going to hold on to that,” Blackwall affirmed to himself. He leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard. “Between you and Cole, I’ve got a lot to think on. Thanks for listening to a man wallow in self-pity. You’re a good friend, Iron Bull.”

### 

“I’m sorry, serah. Her Worship is not to be disturbed.” The infernal man now stood in front of the door that led to Elphaba’s solar.

“Uh huh.” Bull grunted. “So what’s she doing now, then?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what My Lady chooses to occupy herself with in the privacy of her own quarters as it is none of my business.” The man adjusted his spectacles. “Neither is it yours, serah.”

Bull looked down at the man with unabashed condescension. “Who even are you again?”

The man stood up a little taller. “I am Basil Faulton, serah, Seneschal to the Inquisitor and Skyhold.”

“And what hole in the ground was it you crawled out of to fuck with me today?”

The Seneschal finally had the decency to look somewhat affronted. “Hole in the ground? I’ll have you know, serah, that I served Lady Gallant of Ostwick for nearly twenty years with unequalled excellence. Indeed, my family has served House Gallant for seven generations!”

“Then why are you here, and not still serving your precious Lady Gallant of Ostwick?”

Basil thrust out his chest indignantly. “Because, serah, Lady Gallant’s daughter, Senior Enchanter Arden, is dear to Her Worship’s heart, and my position here is a token both to their continued friendship and the loyalty of House Gallant to the Inquisition. I am honoured that Lady Gallant’s esteem of my abilities is such that she deemed the Herald of Andraste worthy of them.”

Bull smiled. Once you find the buttons, juicy bits of information fall out like bonbons at a carnival. “Right. And, in your esteem, is the Herald pleased with this arrangement?”

“Her Worship has expressed no displeasure in my services to date, serah. Quite the opposite, in fact, and I take umbrage at your insinuations otherwise.” 

“You know,” came a voice from behind Bull, “Hawke didn’t get an audience with the Kirkwall Viscount for almost a whole year, and that was only after he saved the Viscount’s son from certain death.”

“Serah Tethras,” acknowledged the Seneschal. “And what can I do for you this evening?”

“Two things,” began Varric, “First, ignore this big grump over here. These days, he’s only in a good mood when he’s drinking or busting heads. And it just so happens his favourite person to do both those things with is also the most important woman in the world.”

Basil looked from Varric to Bull and his eyes widened in understanding. “Ah, you are also one of Her Worship’s friends?”

“No shit!” Bull growled. Why did everyone seem to have such a hard time believing he and Elphaba could be close?

“Forgive me, Serah Bull,” the Seneschal bowed his head. “But you refused to tell me your business. If I had but known…”

“Like I said,” interrupted Varric, “he’s just a big grump. Has a bad habit of keeping all his cards hidden, even from his friends,” and he gave Bull a pointed look, “but about that second thing…”

“Of course,” Basil invited.

“Yes, please continue, Serah Tethras,” Bull mocked.

Varric smirked. “Do me a favour and send the Inquisitor in my general direction when she comes out for the evening. She owes me a game of Wicked Grace.”

“So let it be done, Serah,” the Seneschal replied.

Bull looked at Varric still smirking and then back at Basil, implacable as ever. “Seriously? You don’t think _that’s_ a trifle unworthy of Her Worship’s precious time?”

Basil adjusted his spectacles. “Certainly not, Serah. Spending time on leisure and entertainment with one’s companions is necessary for good health in mind and body. My Lady works hard to secure the safety of Thedas, and I insist her schedule include adequate respite. Wicked Grace is also a most noble game that sharpens the wit and invigorates the spirit. I have quite a practiced hand at it myself, as Serah Tethras can attest.”

“That you do,” Varric nodded. “A pleasure as always, Basil.”

“Very good, Serah.”

“The man wasn’t lying,” Varric informed Bull as he led them to the hall’s roaring fire. “But the only reason he’s any good is because he melts his opponents’ brains with sheer boredom.” The dwarf laughed. “Every conversation with him somehow turns to either the science of organizing staff shifts in a large household, or his opinions on the best furniture suppliers in the Free Marches. I swear I’ve never met anyone who can kill the buzz in a room like our Basil, ha!” 

“He mentioned having worked for a Lady Gallant of Ostwick. You know anything about that?” asked Bull. The Seneschal had brought to his awareness just how little he knew of Elphaba’s family and past.

“Only that she’s a family friend of the Trevelyans,” Varric offered. “Faulton arrived on her behalf a couple months ago. You’d have to ask the Inquisitor for the details.”

Bull nodded, thinking, then decided to change the subject. “If you’re serious about this game of Wicked Grace, though, do you think I could join you?”

“You’re already invited. I’m getting everyone to play,” revealed Varric, “and we’re meeting in the Herald’s Rest after supper.”

Bull raised his brows in surprise. “Everyone?”

“Yeah. The whole gang. Your dragon party inspired me, Tiny,” Varric explained. “Letting off steam was great for morale, but not all of us were there. I figured with all the tension around Cole and Blackwall, something like this might help to break the ice, you know? Or at least provide fertile ground for an entertaining brawl or two…”

“That’s actually not a bad idea, dwarf,” commended Bull.

Varric smiled. “I’ve been known to have them sometimes.”

“So you’ve taken the demon kid under your wing, huh?”

“Emphasis on the ‘kid’ part, Tiny. He just needs a bit of guidance and to be treated like a person. The Inquisitor’s doing her best, but she doesn’t have a lot of time to spend with him.”

“And better you than Solas,” Bull added. “I’ll meet you later at the tavern then. You really got everyone to show up to this thing?”

“Well, Chuckles just glowered at me, and Nightingale laughed sweetly and said ‘You’re so thoughtful, Varric’. Not sure which one unsettled me more…”

“Yeah, your attempt at an Orlesian accent kind of ruined the effect.”

“You had to be there,” Varric laughed. “Inquisitor’s the only one I haven’t gotten a hold of yet, but I know the good Seneschal won’t let me down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to have the Wicked Grace scene at the end here, but I felt that would have made this chapter way too long (that scene is also proving to be quite a beast on its own). However, that means there won't be quite as much of a wait between now and the next chapter!


End file.
